Wicked Game
by LinChungIsHot
Summary: "What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way..." She played a wicked game but there was something terrible going on behind those doors and Yamamoto knew he was the only one who could help her. Drabble collection for Yamamoto Takeshi.
1. World Was on Fire

Yamamoto woke up around midnight when he heard scratching coming from his window.

He sat up sleepily and rubbed his eyes with a fist, trying to rub the drowsiness away. His mind was still in dreamland and it took him an extra second or two to register the sound in his brain.

Before he could even think of it, he was up and walking toward the window. He flipped the locks and slid the window frame upward, opening the window with a silent ease that he never had realized he possessed. When it was open wide enough for a body to fit through, he leaned forward and stuck his hands out.

Soft, delicate hands grasped his own callous, baseball-worn ones and grunting quietly, Yamamoto hoisted the person upward and into his room. They collapsed together onto the floor.

"Yama-kun," came the soft whisper, hoarse and thick with the sound of tears. "He's at it again."

He already knew who the figure he had just pulled into his room was. The voice confirmed his guess. "It's all right. I'm here, (y/n)."

He said the words as they came to mind without even thinking to check himself and he almost cringed at how dumb he sounded once he had spoken them. But they seemed to do just the trick: you let out a loud sob-hiccup. The unshed tears soon followed and your face was flooded in no time.

Despite his sleepiness, Yamamoto had to smile. You weren't as tough as you made yourself out to be. He knew there was a soft side hidden underneath your kick-ass exterior and he liked knowing he was one of the only few who got to see it. "Let it out," he murmured, and in the shadows he found your shoulders and brought you toward him, pressing your face into his chest gently. "Don't hold back."

You sniffled, once; twice; and then you began to weep, as quietly as you could, for you knew Yamamoto's father was just down the hall. Your tears dampened Yamamoto's shirt but he didn't seem to care.

Yamamoto ran his fingers through your hair and pulled you into his embrace, holding you as you cried, his back against the wall and his chin resting lightly on your head. You had been coming to his room late at night more often recently—the situation between you and your father was getting worse. But each time you snuck over to his house, on the verge of tears, he was always there to hold you and comfort you, no matter what. Being your childhood friend, Yamamoto knew you best and so he knew how to soothe you, how to take your mind off of your family problems.

He was only comforting you, he knew, but Yamamoto couldn't stop that fiery sensation burning at the pit of his gut. With you here in his arms, with him breathing in your scent, having your face, your lips, pressed against the thin material of his shirt—

It seemed that each time he comforted you, his feelings for you changed. And sitting there that night as you slowly fell asleep in his arms, he knew he had fallen in love with you. The only problem was, you didn't love him like that.


	2. Never Dreamed

"_I never dreamed I'd hide with somebody like you…"_

* * *

The scent of homemade chocolate chip pancakes wafted to his nose, a scent Yamamoto's stomach had come to respect over the last few months. It was the scent of sheepish apology.

Sure enough, when he opened his eyes, he found a platter of his breakfast in front of him.

"Morning, Yama-kun!" Your smiling face moved into his line of vision. "I made you a fresh patch of pancakes, and there's plenty, so I hope you'll eat up!"

"Hey, (y/n)," he replied, his voice still groggy with sleep. He made to sit up and he realized he was in his bed. But hadn't he fallen asleep against the wall by the window?

"I moved you back into your bed earlier," you were saying as you flitted around the room, moving around with the obvious signs of someone drinking way too much coffee. "You were so damn heavy and I thought I was going to break my arms, but I managed to do it."

"Hahaha, sorry for the trouble." Yamamoto reached for the plate and, bringing it into his lap, he began to dig in. The pancakes were as delicious as they had smelled. "Thanks for the pancakes," he said around a mouthful. "They're great."

You waved it off. "Cool, because I made enough for a family of sixteen to eat."

Yamamoto smiled. "Coffee overload?"

"You know it."

You perched on the edge of his bed and watched him as he ate, and he glanced up at you while he chewed thoughtfully. It was still rather early in the morning—he had about an hour before he needed to get a move on for school, same as you—but you looked as though you had been up for the last couple of hours; although you hid all signs of exhaustion well, keeping them concealed under a little makeup and bright eyes. You had always been good at that, hiding your emotions. He just knew you well enough to crack through your codes.

When you noticed him studying you, your cheeks colored pink and he couldn't help but think the expression you were making was adorable. "Sorry, Yama-kun," you said, dropping your gaze to the blankets pooled around him. "I didn't mean to wake you up last night. But he was infuriated last night and I didn't even think about it, I just ran…"

Yamamoto didn't like the sadness that shadowed your eyes. "Cheer up, (y/n), it's not a big deal." That, and he didn't want to hear about what your father had done to you. Not now. "You come by whenever you need me, okay?"

"Okay…" But that grin of yours was turning you lips up and he grinned back, refocusing his attention to his breakfast. It didn't matter what time of day you came to him, he would be there for you whenever you needed him.

It was terrible on his part, but he hoped the drama between you and your father continued, so that he could remain being your pillar of strength.


	3. Feels the Best

_"It feels the best when you're involved. I think that it's time to let you know…" _

* * *

You knew it was wrong to run to him every time you came across a problem.

But you just couldn't help it and, overtime, it had become a habit of yours.

A habit that you couldn't seem to shake off.

When you first heard the sweet whisperings of a first crush, you consulted Yamamoto about it, telling him of all your fantasies and newest lovers. He was always by your side, smiling and nodding and encouraging you to seek them out.

When you experienced firsthand the feeling of your heart being ripped out or, in other words, when you first experienced what was known as "breaking up," Yamamoto was there. He was there to help you eat through three gallon-sized tubs of ice cream as you cried your eyes out, the two of you watching chick-flick movies the whole time.

And when you ran into trouble with your grades, Yamamoto was there to push you to the top. He wasn't the smartest student but he knew some rather smart students, such as Gokudera Hayato, and he accompanied you on study sessions with the ever-scowling silverette.

Yes, relying on Yamamoto Takeshi was a terrible habit of yours, but you couldn't seem to shake off the habit.

Truth be told, you didn't _want_ to.

You just never fully realized how terribly your dependence was taking its toll on him.


	4. Never Grow Old

_"And we'll never grow old again…" _

* * *

The two of you walked to school together, side by side, like you always did every Wednesday morning. Why Wednesday? It was the only day Gokudera and Tsuna were chased to school by Reborn an hour before the building was even open, for some Spartan training, as Reborn lovingly called it.

Yamamoto liked the other two guys, and the spunky baby, too. After all, they were all his friends. They were practically his family. He would do anything for them. But he really treasured Wednesday mornings. Because he got to walk with you and you alone.

"Whoa!" You let out a shriek. Yamamoto snapped out of his thoughts long enough to watch you whip your arms around like windmills, balancing dangerously on one leg as you almost lost your footing. You quickly righted yourself and then let out a loud exhale. "Whew, that was close!"

"Careful there, (y/n)," he said. "You wouldn't want to fall off the ledge and scrape your pretty face, now, would you?"

"Thanks," you replied, and you did that cute blushing thing where your face turned all pink. It got him every single time.

Then you went right back to walking with your arms out on either side, humming a pop tune underneath your breath. Yamamoto kept pace with you, his long legs having no difficulty as the two of you just walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

He liked Wednesday mornings best because he got to walk by your side and admire you when you weren't looking. You seemed to be so much younger as you teetered slightly on the ledge, dressed in your Namimori schoolgirl outfit. The simple white blouse and plaid skirt made a striking combination when on your body and Yamamoto itched to run his fingers over the material, knowing exactly how it would feel and not caring—

Whatever sadness had been on your face earlier was now gone and you looked completely at ease. This was the (y/n) he knew the best, and this was the (y/n) that he liked, the one that made his heart pound and his throat dry every time those (e/c) irises focused upon him.

"Oh, look! A dandelion!" You paused in mid-stride and bent down swiftly, reaching to pluck the fluffy weed from where it grew alongside the ledge. Your skirt was much too short for you to be bending down and Yamamoto was almost annoyed when your skirt didn't ride up all the way, depriving him of a delicious sight of your panties and thighs.

You turned to face him, the dandelion held delicately between your fingers. "If I make a wish, and then blow on it, do you think my wish will come true?"

"There's that," he said, "and you could also be spreading its seeds and even _more_ dandelions will grow."

"That's good! Then I can keep on making wishes!"

"Ahahaha."

You closed your eyes and brought the dandelion close to your face so that you could whisper your wish into its fluffy seeds. Yamamoto didn't have to hear you to guess what you wished for. Guilt pricked his gut—just because everything was fine now didn't mean it would stay that way.

Gently, you blew air out and the seeds dispersed, sailing through the air in different directions.

"I hope it comes true," you murmured softly. "That would be nice."

Yamamoto made sure to keep his expression light and he held out his hand to you. You took it, and he helped you down from the ledge, and you both walked side by side all the way to Namimori.


	5. Crumbling Like Pastries

_"But lately her face seems slowly sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries…" _

* * *

"Takeshi, come here for a second."

Yamamoto was in the middle of warming up for baseball practice when he heard his name being called. He glanced over his shoulder to see the coach standing at the edge of the diamond, motioning over. He wanted to talk to him, so Yamamoto jogged over to the man.

Being a baseball nut, as Gokudera so affectionately put it, Yamamoto loved baseball. It brought a sense of exhilaration and fulfillment in a way no other sport could. After all, he wasn't Namimori's top player just because he learned the playbook.

So Yamamoto looked forward to practice. Some people thought it was tedious, for the baseball club met thrice a week and the actual team itself had practice every day, but Yamamoto liked it. It kept him in shape. Kept his body nice and fit, among other things.

But there were some days he wished he could skip practice. Why?

He didn't want to see the coach.

Why?

The coach happened to be your father.

"What's up, Coach (l/n)?"

Coach (l/n) didn't return Yamamoto's friendly grin and Yamamoto faltered, his lips turning down into a frown. Instead, the older man fixed Yamamoto with a steely gaze, his (e/c) eyes hard and flat. "My daughter didn't come home this morning," he said, seemingly casual, but Yamamoto caught the undercurrent beneath the words. "Any idea where she was?"

Yamamoto could lie. Or he could do the right thing and tell the truth. But he knew the situation between you and your father and he knew by telling (l/n) where you were last night, you'd be in for it when you returned home. He couldn't bear to bring that on you.

So Yamamoto shook his head. "No, Coach, I dunno."

"She wasn't at your house?"

Here, Yamamoto gave a little grin, one that said _come-on-now-you-know-me! _ "My place? Why would she be at my place?" He laughed.

"Huh." The coach stared at Yamamoto for a long moment, narrowing his eyes into angry slits. Yamamoto wondered if his face was giving anything away. Finally, Coach (l/n) said, "I can always question your father on the matter, Takeshi. Remember that."

_Threatening me, Coach? It's not like you care about your daughter anyway. _ "You could," Yamamoto said, nodding once. But his father hadn't seen you last night. So he would be clueless on the matter.

Coach (l/n) was silent again. Then he turned his head away. "Damn that girl," he growled. "She said some nasty things and I've yet to teach her a lesson…"

Yamamoto didn't want to stick around any longer. He took a step back quickly, trying to go for that casual air, but he was sure the older man could see the disgust crawling across his visage. "I've gotta go, uh, warm up…my legs have been feeling a little tight, so I think a stretch would do some good…"

"Get out of here, maggot." (L/n) shooed him away, his face pinched up and closed, and Yamamoto couldn't have jogged away faster.


	6. Looping Around

_"I keep looping my memories of you in my head, and I pretend that you want me…"_

* * *

It was that one study session that Yamamoto noticed his body's reaction to you.

Geometry was often described as one of the most useless, in-depth subjects in all of mathematics. It was in-depth because one could not forget anything he learned in the subject, for everything was piled on top of each other until one was left with a vast knowledge of angles and shapes. It was useless also, because it wasn't really ever needed in life afterwards. Seriously, how often did one see a person sitting on the side of the road, calculating the volume of a triangle?

Anyways, Yamamoto had always been awful at math and you weren't hot at it, either, so you both sought about the one man you could count on to help you with the material: Gokudera.

He, of course, rejected the idea right then and there.

"Hell no! I'm not wasting my time teaching simple geometry to you two!" he had exclaimed, scowling around the butt of his cigarette.

Yamamoto figured the bomber would react that way, and he had a solution. He cut his eyes to you and you stepped forward, placing your fingers on Gokudera's arm gently. "Please, Gokudera-kun, you're the only one I can rely on…"

You batted your eyelashes and Gokudera didn't do more than blink, but his cheeks were beginning to turn red. He quickly stepped away from your reach. "I won't," he insisted. You opened your mouth to protest but he shook his head firmly. "Don't even, (y/n), I still won't."

So the first plan hadn't worked. But Yamamoto still had another trick up his sleeve. He grinned. "Tsuna needs help, too. He was supposed to come but Reborn got him…"

At the mention of the future Vongola Boss's name, Gokudera brightened. "The Tenth needs help?" he repeated.

You and Yamamoto nodded together. "Yes, he does," you chorused.

"Well, if it's for the Tenth, I would do anything!" And so Gokudera agreed to tutor the three of you for the rest of the week, until the exam came up.

So every night for the next five days, the four of you would meet up, alternating between Tsuna's house and Yamamoto's. Then the night before the test came and as you all were studying, Tsuna's mom walked in.

"Hi! I'm sorry to bother you, I know you're working _so_ hard, but Tsuna, could you run down to the grocery store and pick up a few things? I'm planning to make a lovely dinner tonight~"

The brown-haired boy stood up and mumbled an apology, starting after his mother, but Gokudera got to his feet, too. "I'll accompany you, Tenth!" he said and Nana thanked him and the trio left the room, closing the door behind them.

Yamamoto suddenly realized that he was alone with you. Sure, he had been alone with you before, but this was different. Somehow. He didn't know how, but he could feel it. "Guess it's just you and me now, (y/n)."

"Yeah. You and me," you repeated, your lips curving into a smile.

What was up with all those naughty fantasies that filled his head just now?

But instead of acting on any of them, you just turned back to the thick book spread out in front of you and, humming a nonsense tune to yourself, began to work on the problems Gokudera had assigned.

Yamamoto stared at you for a moment. Wait, was that all you were going to do? _What were you expecting, dumbass? Did you think she would jump you or something?_

You flicked your eyes up, like you could feel his gaze. "Might want to get a start on these problems, Yama-kun," you said. "They're hard."

_Yeah, that's not all that's hard._

"Sure, sure." With a flippant laugh, Yamamoto moved closer and picked up his pencil, hoping against hope that his desires weren't written out on his face for you to see.


	7. Pain Behind Your Eyes

_"I can see the pain behind your eyes; it's been there for quite a while…" _

He heard the laughter before he even stepped inside and so he wasn't surprised to see you sitting with his dad.

"Nice to see you back, son!" Tsuyoshi grinned from where he was standing, working the grill, preparing some food in addition to the plates of sushi spread before you on the table. "I woke up later than usual and so I didn't get to see you off to school today."

"Haha, that's okay, Dad." Yamamoto gave him a wave.

You stood up and joined Yamamoto, giving him a welcome-back hug that made his heart stutter within his chest. "Hey, Yama-kun," you said softly, and your breath fanned against his cheek ever so gently. "I would have waited for you at the diamond but I didn't want to run into _him…"_

"Don't worry about it," he replied, returning the hug quickly and wishing he could hold onto you longer. "I understand." He shrugged off his baseball duffle from his shoulder and let it rest upright against the wall, leaving his books next to it. You were talking about not wanting to see your father. Normally you waited for Yamamoto at the diamond, hidden behind a line of trees past left field, but he couldn't blame you for high-tailing it out of there once school was let out.

Yamamoto went over to Tsuyoshi. "Dad, need some help?" he asked, already reaching over his father to twist the faucet on and run his hands through the water.

"I've got it," the older man replied. He beamed over at you as you plopped a sushi roll into your mouth. "(Y/n), you'll be staying for dinner, right?"

You nodded. "Of course! I always love your dinners, Yoshi-san."

Tsuyoshi let out a rumbling chuckle. "You flatter me so!"

Having known you for many years, Tsuyoshi had grown accustomed to your presence around the sushi bar and around the house and Yamamoto was glad his father took you in like you were his daughter. He knew you enjoyed the affection, too. You had never once dared to tell Tsuyoshi of the situation at your house, of the quickly worsening situation between you and your own father, but Yamamoto could see that with Tsuyoshi treating you like kin, it helped to soothe the wounds just a bit. You got to experience what it would be like to have a _real_ father.

He smiled to himself and after wiping his hands dry quickly on the back of his grass-stained jeans, he headed to you as you continued to eat sushi rolls. There had once been a time where you had gone green at the sight of sushi but after trying Tsuyoshi's special recipe, you did anything to eat it. It was cute. Most girls nowadays in Yamamoto's presence didn't eat anything. "You haven't been here long, have you?" he asked, placing his fingers gently on your shoulder as he stood at your side.

"Well, actually, I've been here for a while now. I didn't go home."

Instead of questioning you, Yamamoto bumped his hip into yours playfully. "You gonna sleep over or what?" he asked, knowing his reaction was what you wanted. "We could share beds~"

"In your dreams," you replied, giggling, popping the last of your sushi into your mouth. A piece of rice stuck just to the corner of your lips and Yamamoto had to resist the urge to reach out and brush it away. A gesture he once would've done without a second thought now seemed too intimate. _Why, all of a sudden…?_

"Hey, Takeshi." The said boy looked up to see Tsuyoshi staring at him curiously. "You and your baseball coach, (L/n), you two didn't have a disagreement, did you?"

At the mention of your father's name, your innocent smile disappeared, replaced by a dark look. Yamamoto shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

The older man scratched the back of his head. "Ah, no reason. It's just that I ran into him earlier today…and I asked how you were doing but he refused to talk to me at all. He only said, 'It's none of your business, now leave me alone,' and then just left."

You took a step back. "Um, I think it's time I…"

You were trying to flee. To where, Yamamoto didn't know. But he couldn't let that happen. He turned to face you and whispered over his shoulder, "Head on up to my room. Pop a movie in. I'll bring up some drinks."

Relief washed over your features. You made to thank him but he just grinned gently. "It better not be another chick-flick!" he warned and you quickly said it wouldn't be before dashing toward the stairs. Yamamoto didn't like the way your emotions were showing. You used to be able to hide them flawlessly. Now, though, they had surfaced and they were raw and…he didn't know what he could do.


	8. Ran Away

_"I ran away from you. That's all I ever do. And though it started way back when, I ran away from you…"_

You had watched all of Yamamoto's movies three times each and as you sat on his bed, holding a couple of covers in your hands and debating on which movie you should pick, you were glad that Yamamoto still had the strength to put up with you.

A nice warm, fuzzy feeling blossomed in your chest. You smiled. "God, Yama-kun, you're so sweet," you murmured, knowing he was still downstairs and knowing he couldn't hear you. "I'm glad you're such an awesome friend—"

_Riiiiing._

The sudden shrill noise shattered the silence. You jolted upright, your body going completely rigid in surprise.

"What _is_ that?" you gasped, whirling around as the ringing continued, coming from behind you. You located the sound. It seemed to be emitting from your bag, where you had left it by Yamamoto's desk. You reached for it and rummaged around through it until your hand bumped against something vibrating wildly.

Your cell phone.

That warm feeling that had been in your chest only moments ago disappeared instantly, like water suddenly being poured onto a blazing fire. It left you cold and empty. You stared at the piece of metal only a few feet away from you, willing it to stop. It just kept on ringing.

Oh, how badly you wished you didn't have to answer the damn thing.

Every thought fled from your mind and you almost forgot how to breathe as you sat there for a split second. Then, without any hesitation, you snatched up the phone and brought it close to your ear, jabbing the ANSWER button with a sharp finger. "What the hell do you want?!"

There was silence.

Then a throaty voice answered, full of unsuppressed malice. "Where've ya run offa now, (y/n)?"

"I'll never tell you, that's for sure."

"I asked everyone…but no one gave me a straight answer." He hiccupped loudly, then let out a loud belch that made you cringe, pulling the phone away from your ear for a moment. "Seems ya gots lotsa friends savin' yer ass…"

There were so many ways you could respond to him. So many different ways. But you could hear the rasping wheeze in his voice and the throttle deep within his throat and you knew the reason for him calling you now. So you forced yourself to tame some of the anger down and you managed to say through gritted teeth, "Why are you calling me, father?"

"Heh heh, what's wrong with a little girl being called by her daddy? Last time I checked, it was al'right…"

"I'm going to hang up on you," you warned. Your right hand curled up into a tight fist, and you pressed it against your thigh, digging your nails into your palm. "If you have something to say, you better say it fast."

There was no answer. Silence stretched out on the other end of the phone. For a long moment, you held your breath as you waited for (l/n) to speak but as the seconds ticked by, you realized he had probably just cut the line.

_The bastard doesn't know how to finish anything—_

You heard the sound of liquid being noisily swallowed and that's when you knew. He was doing it. Again.

Despite it all, tears stung your eyes like needles. Why were you crying? There was nothing to cry about! It was beyond hopeless. So then why did it feel like your heart was being jabbed with a knife…?

"(Y/n), come home," he hissed. "You need to come home."

"Father, I don't want to—"

"Where ya hidin' this time? At that maggot Takeshi's house? Next time I see him at practice, I'll bust him up good for messing around with you…"

And that was the last straw. "Don't talk shit about him!" you cried, your voice loud and piercing in the enclosed space of the room. "I don't want to hear you saying anything horrible about him! You have no right, do you hear me? And don't you _dare_ touch him! I swear, if you even lay on finger on him—!"

This time, the silence on (l/n)'s part was stunned. Then he chuckled. "You _are_ hiding there, aren'tcha? I'm coming for you. Just wait. I'm gonna come for you now."

Fury made you shake uncontrollably and now the tears were streaming down your face in despair, in disgust, in rage. "I never want to see your face again, father! Until you fix up this problem of yours, I'm not returning home!"

"(Y/n) —"

"People like you deserve to rot in Hell!" The words had barely exploded out from your mouth before you disconnected the call and, acting on a childish impulse, threw the cell phone at the wall. It connected with a satisfying _thump!_ and slid to the floor in tiny little pieces. _Good_, you thought, _now he can't use that stupid tracking device of his to find me._

You fell back against the bed, sobbing hard. A split second passed and then you heard the door opening. Yamamoto's voice filled your ears. "Why're you crying, (y/n)? You've gotta stop…"

One look into his intelligent, concerned caramel-colored eyes and you knew he already figured out the reasons behind your distress. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in tight against your chest and you set to tiring yourself out by weeping on his baseball uniform. His Rain Guardian ring gently scraped against your skin; the tranquility of rain washed over your body in waves, doing wonders on your state. You just held onto him, shutting the world out, focusing only the scent of freshly-cut grass and the taste of salty tears.


	9. Twice as Nice

_"I'm cold as fire, baby, hot as ice. If you've ever been to heaven, baby, well, this is twice as nice." _

* * *

_God, it felt so good. To be touched by your hands, to be kissed by your lips. Your soft, luscious lips. He had never imagined he would taste them. He had never imagined they would taste so sweet._

_You were moaning his name as he nibbled that spot where your shoulder met your neck, knowing it was a spot that sent wild shivers down your spine. Your fingers were tangled in his hair and your bare legs were wrapped around his waist tightly and he could feel exactly how his caresses were getting to you, judging by the spreading warmth in between your thighs—_

_"Mmm, Yama-kun," you mewled softly._

_He didn't reply, he only continued to scrape his teeth lightly against your skin. His hands slid up from your hips, over your sides, until he came to your breasts. He hadn't touched them yet—they were still concealed behind your lacy black bra—but he would make quick work of that._

_And he did. In less than a second, the bra was falling to the floor and he was brushing his thumbs over your nipples. You gasped, your eyes closing in surprise, as your back arched slightly toward him. He couldn't help but laugh huskily at how you responded to this new touch and when you urged him to engulf one mound with his mouth and attend to its twin with a hand, he complied eagerly._

_Your moan was louder this time and you kept one hand in his hair, your other hand slipping underneath the hem of his shirt so you could run your fingernails up and down his bare back. He shuddered from the sensation._

_How many times had he dreamed of this moment? You were finally submitting to him—not as submission, not as a sex slave, but as a lover. You, the girl who had kept her heart closed and her face blank to all who spoke to her, was now letting him take you. You would become his. _

_It was something he had dreamed of countless times._

_To have it turn into reality—_

_Then you were pushing his head back and he flicked his eyes up to look at you. Your (e/c) eyes were hazy with desire and lust and he liked that blush you wore, your cheeks all flushed from the heat of intimate touches. And knowing that he was the one doing this to you…_

_"I can't wait anymore," you murmured. "Please, take me now, Yama-kun—"_

Yamamoto's eyes shot open.

He laid there for the longest moment, staring at the ceiling through the shadows of night, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to breathe. His entire body felt as though there was fire raging beneath the skin, or hot pokers were pressed up against him everywhere. Sweat rolled down his neck and it matted his hair to his forehead and he was panting heavily.

Slowly, he sat up. The bed sheets were all bunched around his legs and he glanced down to shove them away.

"Damn."

What number was this? For the last few days, he had woken up with a full-blown hard-on. And each night, the dreams only got wetter—

The fact that you were sleeping right next to him wasn't helping, either.

Yamamoto rubbed his hand over his face a few times, trying to calm himself down. It was a miracle you were still asleep. It was a miracle he hadn't jumped you.

He sighed and then got out of bed, moving as silently as he could. It was time for a cold shower. After all, there was no better time for taking a shower than two in the morning, was there?


	10. I Dare You

_"I dare you to tell me to walk through the fire, to brand my soul and call me a liar." _

* * *

"Good work today, you little monsters! Grab everything and hit the showers. Get on out of here!"

The players of the baseball team all broke out into exhausted, worn-out conversations as they gathered their equipment and jogged off the diamond, heading for the locker room for a well-deserved shower. Yamamoto exchanged a few high-fives with his teammates and went to get his own glove, where it lay by the dugout.

"Hey, Takeshi, can you do me a quick favor?" Yamamoto looked back in surprise to find (l/n) standing there, dragging all of the bats to pitcher's mound. He pointed over to home plate. "Go fetch that helmet there. Think it belongs to Akira. Sometimes, I don't know what to do with that boy. He's always leaving his helmet behind and I get tired of having to give it to him."

Asking him for a favor? Usually (l/n) worded it differently, especially when he was talking to him, but whatever. At least he had asked nicely. "Sure thing, Coach." Yamamoto headed over to where the black helmet lay. He stooped down and picked it up, examining the name written along the inside in black marker. "Yep, this is Akira's," he said, starting to turn around. "Want me to give it to him? I'll see him inside—"

Even with his sharp reflexes, Yamamoto wasn't able to catch the movement of the bat before it slammed into his stomach.

The pain was immediate and it was _blinding._ He'd been caught off-guard and he had been totally unprepared for the blow but anyone clipped with a bat to the stomach would've felt the same. Mind-blowing pain spiraled outward from his stomach, tingling up along his bones, spreading down to his toes. Yamamoto dropped to his knees, his mouth hanging open and useless in a silent shout, and then he crumpled face-forward onto the dirt of the diamond.

(L/n) didn't stop there. He brought the bat down on Yamamoto's back and the boy jerked upward as the pain registered, white-hot and fierce; the sting left behind was much worse than any whip crack could've made.

"That's for lying to me, maggot," he snarled. His voice was low and gravelly and had Yamamoto been able to feel anything, he would have felt rage enveloping his senses. "You think I don't know where my bitch of a daughter is? Well, think again."

His foot shot out and hit Yamamoto's side, kicking him over until he was lying on his aching back, staring at the sky through half-lidded eyes that swam with black dots. Then (l/n)'s face moved into his line of vision and the man knelt down, fisting his hand in Yamamoto's hair and lifting it up.

"Stay away from her, or next time, the pain's gonna be a lot worse than a few hits to your body." The sour taste of alcohol blasted over Yamamoto's cheek and he coughed, choking on the rancid smell and the blood rising up his throat. With a disgusted snort, (l/n) shoved his head back down and straightened, moving away. Yamamoto was able to hear him as he walked off of the diamond, whistling cheerfully to himself, the musical click of wooden bats slung on his shoulder resounding.

The world above Yamamoto spun and the colors all melded together, like water being splashed onto a painting canvas. His head lolled to the side and he looked at his hand, willing for one of his fingers to move, checking to see if anything was broken. His fingers responded, but they were slow, and more fiery licks of pain rushed up his forearm.

How had he not seen this coming? How had he not been able to block, or dodge, or something? Fuck it all…

Yamamoto would have given anything at that moment to have continued laying there. He so desperately wanted to succumb to the darkness that grabbed at the edges of his consciousness, trying to lull him in.

Instead, he got to his feet, slowly and painfully, a deep groan sliding past his numb lips. Clutching Akira's helmet to his hip, he staggered off in the direction of the locker room, his stomach in agony and one leg limping but hiding it as best as he could.


	11. Worry About the Rain

_"I worry about the wind, and you worry about the rain. Yes, I worry about the wind, but that rain kept getting in your eyes…" _

You were walking home by yourself, balancing on the ledges of the wall, when you saw a familiar person up ahead. He wore a Namimori uniform and there chains hanging down from the pocket of his jeans and you didn't even hesitate as you leapt down from the ledge and ran over to him, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Gokudera-kun!" you chirped happily.

The said male jumped about twenty feet in the air, flailing his arms about wildly to defend his unknown attacker. He whipped his head around and you got a mouthful of his silver hair. "Shit, (y/n)!" he yelled. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry, sorry." You didn't let go of him, though; after all, it wasn't every day one got to hug Gokudera Hayato unless one happened to be Tsuna.

Gokudera turned bright red. "Would you get offa me, please?" he demanded and you held onto him for a few more seconds before letting go.

"Jeez," he muttered, dragging his fingers through his hair. "Why do you have to always sneak up on me?"

"Because I love you, Gokudera-kun!" To prove it, you blew him a kiss and he only shook his head, a smile roughly forming on his lips. "No, really," you said, "I just act otherwise. But I really do love you; you're much too sexy for your own good! Oh, me oh my, won't you strip?"

He spent a few moments trying to reclaim that calm composure he'd had before you jumped him and you decided that falling into step beside him would be nice, even though he wasn't the world's greatest company. His strides were much longer than yours and initially, you'd had a hard time keeping up with him but he noticed and slowed down for you.

In an attempt to get a conversation going, you said, "So, what's cooking?" And as he mulled the question over in his mind, trying to remember if it literally meant what was cooking, you hooked your arm with his. "Oh, and by the way, your hair tastes like cinnamon."

"Thanks." He frowned.

You and Gokudera weren't the best of friends but you had a sweet spot for the rough-and-rumble silverette. He had a nice personality to him once one got to know him, and sure, you didn't know him _that _well, but in a way he'd opened up to you. Or so you liked to think.

So he didn't shake your arm off but he did light a cigarette using his other hand, and as he raised it to his mouth, he finally replied with, "Nothing…unless Bianchi is cooking something poisonous again. Then I'm not so certain. Damn that woman, she's such a freak."

You giggled. "Cool." The scent of smoke drifted to your nose but the slight breeze in the air was enough to snatch it away. "Where's Tsuna? Don't you usually walk with him?"

"Yeah, but Mr. Reborn got to him before I could." Gokudera took a long drag on the cigarette and blew out a perfect smoke ring. "He said something about Tenth needing to become a man, so I just wandered around the school. But, if you ask me, Tenth is _already_ the manliest man among men!"

"Gosh, Gokudera-kun, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you have the hots for Tsuna."

He gave you a look, furrowing his brows down over his silver-green eyes. "What nonsense are you spouting now, (y/n)?"

You responded with a brilliant smile that had his cheeks turning pink again. "Never mind, I take it back. Although a relationship between the two of you would be nice."

When you cackled, Gokudera sighed loudly. "I swear, sometimes you're so like that baseball freak," he commented. After a moment in which he sucked on the end of his cigarette, he turned to you and asked, "Where _is _that baseball freak? I thought the two of you guys always walked together."

"Well, yeah, but…" You went silent. Yamamoto had practice today but he'd told you he would meet you in the library once it was over. So you had gone to the library and hung out there for an hour and a half, and you had managed to finish all of your homework…but Yamamoto never showed up. And Yamamoto always kept his promises. You couldn't ever remember a time where he had broken one.

You went to the diamond afterwards to see if he was there but it was empty. There had been a strange trail of reddish-copper liquid in the grass, however, and a small puddle of it by home base. Someone had gotten hit by a baseball again, it seemed.

You quickly gave Gokudera a recap of why Yamamoto wasn't with you. Gokudera listened quietly for most of it, and then he said, "Maybe he forgot. He gets all caught up in that damn sport of his, ya know."

"Yama-kun wouldn't forget a promise," you started, and then you swallowed your words. Maybe he _did_ forget. It wasn't a big deal, though; it was just a simple matter of misplacing information…

"Yeah, you're right," you said instead.

Gokudera examined you. "Don't feel too bad about it, (y/n), he's a bastard," he said, in a rare attempt to cheer your up.

"Mmm…" You would just have to ask Yamamoto once you got to his house. Pushing it off to the far corners of your mind, you faced the bomber and said, "Care to join me for a smoothie or something? I'm starving…"

"I hate smoothies," he quickly replied, and then followed it up with, "But I can buy you one, as long as it doesn't cost too much."

"I'll pay you back, thanks." You dragged him off to the nearest smoothie shop.


	12. Let Them Bleed

_"Sometimes these cuts are so much deeper than they seem. You'd rather cover up; I'd rather let them bleed. So let me be and I'll set you free…"_

* * *

Yamamoto went home limping but before he stepped into his house, he made sure not to drag his foot. It was weird. His abdomen wasn't hurting nearly as much as it should've been—in fact, it had gone entirely numb. All he could feel was a sharp jab of pain each time he inhaled and so he tried to breathe in as shallowly as possible.

His right leg was acting up now. Instead of being as numb as his stomach, it was burning with an intensity that made him gasp. He couldn't walk normally and to take a step, he practically had to lift his foot up and lurch forward.

Rearranging his facial features, Yamamoto hoped he had a calm, serene look on his face. There seemed to be shards of jagged glass embedded deep in his foot and as he entered the house, the door bumped his foot. He somehow managed to swallow his shout as his foot went in flames.

_Damn it, I'm going to have to see Dr. Shamal about this. Maybe he'll make an exception…God, all of this for (y/n). With a father like_ that_—_

Tsuyoshi was just finishing the dishes and he grinned as he spotted Yamamoto. "Perfect timing, Takeshi!" he greeted, waving a soap-lathered hand, suds flinging off from his fingers. "I've got some time to see how your Shigure Soen Ryu is turnin' out. Whaddaya say to some practice?"

As much as he'd love to touch up on his technique, Yamamoto knew he couldn't do anything in his battered state. "Ah…" He feigned nonchalant exhaustion, hiding a grimace behind his fist as a yawn. "I'm pretty beat from practice. Think I'm gonna go take a nap, sorry."

Tsuyoshi was happy either way. He ran his hands under some warm water and then gave them a quick rubdown with the hand towel. "All right. You know where to find me, then." He headed for the door and when he passed Yamamoto, he gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder. Yamamoto dug his heels into the ground just in time, and with sheer force, he was able to keep from crashing into the wall.

The climb up the stairs was like Hell—he almost gave up three steps in. When he finally stumbled into his room eternities later, Yamamoto was alarmed to find crimson blooming on the front of his uniform jacket. Black was supposed to hide any tells of blood, right? Reborn had told him that…

He shrugged his jacket to the floor and then set about to gingerly peeling his bloodied baseball uniform off. Twice he thought he'd lose consciousness; the shirt had dried to his ribs and he had been forced to rip the material free from the wound. By the time he was done, the carpet underneath his feet was metallic red, his toes covered in the thin and watery substance.

Yamamoto forced himself to look.

Upon closer inspection, it wasn't that bad—it was merely a deep flesh wound. Had the bat (l/n) used been made from metal, it would be a completely different story but luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it) the bat had been wooden. The skin around his ribs was torn and crimson stained it all. He could glimpse peeks of shiny, white bone here and there. A couple of stitches would do the job.

_Look on the bright side. A couple of weeks and I'll be back to playing baseball again. But for now, there's no way I'll even be able to step onto that field._

His legs gave out and Yamamoto fell backward, landing hard, his sore back absorbing the impact. Now that his wound wasn't touching his shirt anymore, it hurt. It hurt so _bad._ He wasn't one to cry but Yamamoto's eyes were getting all hot and he shut them in frustration.

(Y/n). You poor thing. No wonder you spent most of your time at his house.

Speaking of you…shit, he had promised you he would meet you at the library after practice, hadn't he? Yamamoto swore loudly. Now you would be mad at him. It was a small thing when compared to everything else but he didn't like to have you angry.

God. He could feel the blackness closing in around him again. Yamamoto reached outward blindly, groping for his cell phone. He needed to call someone. Not you…one of the family, maybe, like Tsuna or Gokudera or, hell, he would settle for Hibari right now…

_Next time I see that bastard of a coach, I'm smashing his face in._


	13. Falls Like Sand

_"Time falls like sand; watch it fallin' right through our hands…" _

* * *

You didn't end up crashing at Yamamoto's house that night. Instead, you slept over at Tsuna's. When you and Gokudera went off for smoothies, you ran into the poor boy amidst being hackled by Reborn and after striking up a conversation with the unlikely pair, Tsuna invited you over for some dinner. You, being a sucker for his sweet smile, agreed and when his mother Nana politely asked if you were staying, Tsuna chimed in on the request. What guest would refuse?

But when you got to school, with Tsuna and a scowling Gokudera flanking your side, you were surprised to find that a certain someone had gotten crutches. No, you weren't surprised—you were downright shocked.

"Yamamoto?! You got crutches?" Tsuna yelped when he saw the tall baseball star clomp in through the doorway.

The said boy smiled sheepishly. "Yeah…"

You could see Tsuna exchanging a look with Gokudera. A few years ago, when Yamamoto broke his arm after some extra practicing, he had nearly jumped off of the roof in despair but Tsuna had managed to talk him out of it. Thus, Yamamoto started to see the boys as family. Now the gears were turning frantically in their head as they thought of ways to talk him out of _this_.

"Guys, don't worry," Yamamoto said. "I'm not gonna kill myself or anything crazy like that." Tsuna breathed out a sigh of relief but Gokudera looked sort of disappointed.

You stayed where you where, quietly examining Yamamoto. His right foot had a brace fashioned around the ankle, and bandages made his foot bulky. He was leaning heavily onto his left side but there was something about his posture, something about the way he rested an arm, curved, over his stomach…

"How did this happen?" you demanded.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise but he quickly bounced back to his cheerful exterior. "Training," he answered. "At the dojo. With my dad. He was helping me with my technique and I wasn't careful with my footing and…"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Then what happened to your stomach, Yama-kun?"

"Training," he said again.

That wasn't it. You couldn't believe Yamamoto would receive such an injury by losing his footing. He_ never_ lost his footing, for one thing. He was always top-notch with that. It all boiled down to one thing: he was lying to you. You opened your mouth to retort but it was Gokudera who slapped his hand over your lips, muffling your sound.

"Sucks, Baseball Nut. How long are you gonna be out of baseball?"

"I'll be off the crutches in a week, but the doctors warn me not to play until a month has passed…"

"Tough. Anyways, we all have got to get to class. See you around." Gokudera motioned for Tsuna to follow and the brunette stammered out a good-bye and then together, Gokudera and Tsuna dragged you off to class, leaving Yamamoto standing there, his expression closed off and painful. You watched him as you were dragged along. He was lying, you were sure of it. Thing was, how could you get him to expose it?


	14. Ripples and Rhymes

_"He heard you could see your future inside a glass of water. The ripples and the rhymes…he asked, 'will I see heaven in mine?' "_

* * *

The two of you were walking home together—you and Yamamoto, that was. He was going on about how well he'd done on some exam and you were nodding, adding little ihmmm/i's here and there to make it sound like you were listening, when really what you were doing was waiting.

"So, yeah, considering how much I crammed the night before, I'm pretty satisfied with a B-minus!" He struggled to keep up with you on his crutches, for his right foot wasn't working as he would've liked, and you slowed down the pace even more. "What did you get?"

"A solid A," you replied absently.

Yamamoto whistled appreciatively. "Good to know Gokudera's tutoring is working for one of us!"

You smiled. It was your highest exam grade in the class so far and you were proud of it, and under normal circumstances, you would've taken the opportunity to boast about it to Yamamoto but there were other matters. Instead, you stopped walking and Yamamoto paused in his strides beside you, fixing you with a questioning gaze.

"What's up, (y/n)?"

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, going onto your tiptoe to hug him. His arms began to settle low on your waist, to hug you back and support you as you stood off-balanced, but before he could even ask why you were embracing him so suddenly, you moved one of your hands down and pressed your palm flat against his abdomen.

Yamamoto let go of you so quickly, you thought you'd fall. He had sucked in his breath and he reeled back now, almost losing his balance as he did so. One hand had automatically gone to his stomach and he curled it there, shielding it, protecting it from any more damage.

His face was dark with pain and though he tried to hide it, he could not. "Wh-what was that for?"

"The hug or the touching?" you shot back coolly.

His lips thinned.

"Yama-kun," you said, your voice soft and practically inaudible, "How did you injure your stomach?"

"Training," he said breezily.

Then Yamamoto, who never let his temper, if he even _had_ one, get the best of him, gave you an uncharacteristically scalding look before repositioning himself on his crutches and hobbling forward, walking as fast as one could on those metal things.


	15. Empty Room

_"There's an empty room at the end of the hall, and it's begging to swallow you whole…"_

* * *

You lied to Yamamoto and told him you would be sleeping over at a friend's house. A friend named Makino, who, of course, didn't exist. He was against the idea and insisted on you spending the night with him where you would be safe, but you told him that Makino had asked you to come over and you hadn't refused. So, being the one with a big heart, Yamamoto agreed. It took a lot of pleading.

When he asked who Makino was, you simply told him, "A friend from History," for it was the only class you didn't have with him. And to back up your story, you told Ryohei that the new girl's name was Makino, the girl who never talked or spoke or anything.

"Just for tonight," you told Yamamoto, giving him a brilliant smile and although he was still angry with you at having pressed his wound intentionally, he couldn't help but give in.

Sure, you'd love to spend the night with him. Yes, you were safe with him. But there was something bugging you.

And so when you were supposedly at "Makino's" house, you instead backtracked to your own house, entering through the back door.

The kitchen was as filthy as it had been since you last saw it. Grubby plates were set all around the table with food encrusted to the platters, and used silverware was sprinkled out like it was decoration. Tiny fruit flies flew in the air; the fruit basket was rotting, as was most of the food left outside on the plates. The sink was piled high with stacks and you wrinkled your nose at the overflowing garbage can.

"Who the fuck is there?"

The shout came from the living room and you tightened your hand into a fist. _I'm not here to start another argument,_ you reminded yourself, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room to confront him. _I just need to confirm something. And clear a few things up._

The kitchen had been gross but this room was much worse. Bottles littered the floor everywhere, mostly empty, some still full of amber liquid. There were dry patches on the shedding carpet and you blanched when you saw the puddle of vomit gleaming in the dim light cast by the television. Bile rose up in your throat but you forced it down.

Sprawled on the sofa was (l/n), finishing off the last of a six-pack.

"Oh…it's you…" He mumbled off the rest of his words and then tipped his head back, taking a long sip.

You resisted the urge to storm over and slap the bottle away from his hands. God, when had it gotten like this? Up until a year ago, (l/n) had been good at managing his alcohol consumption but then it had suddenly gotten way out of hand and before you had even time to blink, he had become a maniac.

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry to disappoint you."

He grunted. "Thought ya said you wasssunt comin' home til I fizzed my prublum…" His words weren't exactly slurred but his vowels were off and they were hard to decipher. For the most part, he could speak clearly while intoxicated so to hear his words slipping meant that he was quite intoxicated; as if one look at his dilated eyes and sunken, sweating face wasn't enough.

You cut him off before he could go on, firmly planting your hands on your hips. "Don't misunderstand," you told him, standing with a solid resolve that would have made him chose his words carefully, had he still had half a brain. "I'm not here to apologize or forgive you or anything. I'm only here because I need to ask you a question."

(L/n) waved a hand uselessly in the air. "Ask the damn question already."

"Did you hurt Yamamoto?"

There was the longest moment of silence. A moment in which (l/n) did nothing but stare blankly at you. The shadows around you flickered with fragments of colors, tossed from the screen of the mute television.

You sighed, spinning around to leave. _Why did I even bother?_ you demanded silently, _what made you think he would ever answer your question?_

His scratchy voice stopped you. "You want me to answer? Al'right. Did I hurt that boy?

"Hmm." He chuckled, then began laughing, full-throated laughter, the kind that made a man's body rumble as he did. "Yeah. I did. I did hurt that bastard, didn't I?"

_SLAP._

And then you found yourself standing over (l/n), and his head was turned to one shoulder, his cheek already turning bright red with pain. Your hand was still in the air and it was smarting with the impact. You gaped at it, then at (l/n), who was glaring at you through unfocused eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. The look on his face could have murdered.

You had slapped him.

The strange thing was, satisfaction was coursing through your veins in a buzz, and you were glad you had hit him. He deserved it. Oh, what you wouldn't give to just beat him up until he was unconscious…

The beer can had fallen from his hand and it splashed even more liquid onto the floor; tightening his fingers into a fist, he lumbered to his feet. That's when your twisted contentment spiraled downward into absolute terror. You shrank back a step, then two.

"You'll regret that," he growled, advancing on you. Even though there was a space between you and him, you could smell the rancid liquid on his lips, his tongue, his clothes, his _being_.

You didn't say anything, you just turned tail and ran as fast as you could, away from that haunted house, your entire body only focused on the one person who could save you.

That certain smiling, cheery someone.


	16. Just You Try and Stop Me

_"I'll be there by your side, just you try and stop me…and I want you to know, that I'll always get in your way…" _

* * *

At first, Yamamoto was furious at you. Not only had you pressed his wound earlier and almost reopened it, but you had also lied to him about going over to some girl's house, a girl who didn't happen to exist. In the time frame that you were gone, he had called the rest of the guys and asked about a Makino and only Ryohei seemed to know who she was, which lead him to believe that you had forced the boxer to be your backup.

So in his rage, he refused to let you come inside—he wouldn't even help you through the window and into his room, the nerve!—until he got a good look at your face.

"Oh, shit, (y/n), you didn't…" He swallowed the rest of his words and reached his arms out of the window, and you grasped his hands, heaving yourself up quickly to relieve him of the strain it was putting on his stomach.

The two of you stood there in his room; you, your hands dangling lifelessly at your side, and him, with one palm against his ribs gently, checking to see if the skin had split again. When you didn't say anything, Yamamoto looked to you and inquired, "So about this girl Makino…"

You cracked a humorless smile. "Ryohei told you?"

"Nah, I figured it out myself. Her name is Akiye, by the way."

"Pretty."

The silence was becoming unbearable and Yamamoto didn't like it. That and you weren't meeting his gaze. He brushed his calloused, slender fingers over your cheek and to the underside of your chin, gently nudging it upward so that you were forced to look at him.

When your (e/c) irises finally slid to his, they shone wetly and tears bubbled on your lashes. "I'm so sorry, Yama-kun," you whispered, choking back on a sob. "I never expected him to do that to you…"

He sighed. It was a weary sigh, but he was able to disguise it as a good-natured one. "Damnit, (y/n), why couldn't you just believe me when I said it was from training?"

"Because I know you don't lose your footing."

"Hahaha, that's true. I'm too good for that, huh?"

Your smile was more genuine this time but the tears were falling, staining your cheeks with colorless tracks, and Yamamoto's heart jumped, like it always did every time he saw you crying. He wanted to hold you against his chest, to wrap his arms around and comfort you, but with his ribs injured he couldn't. All he could do was pat his hand gently on your back and murmur some soothing things.

When the tears were no longer escaping your eyes, you dragged your palms across your cheeks and stammered an apology for turning on the waterworks.

"No problem," Yamamoto replied easily. "And if it's any consolation, you look really cute right now."

He had to say it and you blushed; his throat tightened.

You moved away from him, perching on the edge of his bed. He came over to you, hobbling slightly—using the crutches in the confined spaces of his room was incredibly difficult and so he left them in the shop, where he could easily grab them before heading outside. And walking without them was great practice, for he was terrible on them, anyhow.

"Sorry for lying to you," you said, running your fingers on top of his bedspread.

"Again, it's no problem," Yamamoto replied, almost falling into his seat next to you. You steadied him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and he again cursed your father for hurting him. Otherwise, he'd be able to hug you back… "Does this mean you're going to spending the night here, then?"

You punched his shoulder lightly. "Is that all you care about? Yes, though, I am. Don't get _too _excited there," you added, when he winked. "It's just for tonight."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just glad that you can sleep next to me," he said casually, masking his feelings well enough.

You smiled, looking away. Then you said quietly, "Um, Yama-kun…how did my father hurt you?"

All his teasing vanished and he felt himself grow somber. _ Should I tell her…? She just stopped crying and I don't think it would be a good idea. But I can't just blow her off._

"You sure you want to know?"

You met his gaze again and he found he couldn't break away. "Of course."

He exhaled slowly. "It was after practice, and Coach (l/n) had me pick up Akira's helmet. As I was picking up, I didn't see him and he swung a bat at me—"

Next to him, you gasped. Your eyes were wide with horror and you raised your hands, placing them over your mouth. "Oh, my God," you murmured.

He was suddenly irritated with himself at having told you. "(Y/n), please, it's not as bad as it sounds…"

Yamamoto trailed off when you leaned forward and, ever so gently, kissed him. It was just a peck and it was over before he could ever register it, but it had been a kiss to his lips. God, he wished he could kiss you more. You'd tasted like strawberry and it lingered on his mouth and he wanted to lick his lips to taste it even more…

"I know it's not much," you started, "but you do so much for me and—"

Yamamoto stood up. "Never mind that," he said. His voice was rough with desire and for the moment, he didn't care if it was as clear as day. "It's enough for me."

You blushed. It got to him every single time.


	17. Wild Fire Woman

_"Wild fire shooting through my veins, it burns a fever to my brain. Wild fire woman, it's something that you've got. I start to shiver when you do that, do that baby, now." _

* * *

His sprained leg and bruised ribs didn't seem to be healing anytime soon, and so Yamamoto had to be kept from baseball for a few weeks. That included baseball practice and attending the club meetings—if he wanted to, he could still go to the meetings, but Coach was always there and Yamamoto wasn't sure what he would do if he saw his face—and so his afternoons were now free.

One day after school, as he walked home with you, you decided that you were hungry. There just so happened to be an ice cream parlor not too far away and Yamamoto, who was off his crutches now sthe wretched things/s, offered to take you for the frozen treat.

It was one of the worst decisions he had even made.

He got a plain vanilla cone and you did, too, with caramel sauce as your topping. Seeing as he was the man in this particular scenario, Yamamoto paid the desired amount but you grabbed the cones and then headed for a booth in the back, by the window, where no one else sat. Usually you liked to sit up in the front, by the door, as the breeze that came in with someone's entrance was refreshing but, hey, change was good and so he followed you and took a seat across from you in the little booth.

"Thanks for the ice cream, Yama-kun," you said, smiling, as you handed him his cone.

"Anytime," he replied.

You fixed your gaze on the window, observing the occasional car drive by and the pedestrians stroll around outside in the fine weather. "Baseball always takes up most of your time," you commented, licking your cone casually. "So I'm glad we can have this time now to hang out."

He started on his ice cream. "You're right." It had been ages since the two of you did something like this; sure, you spent most of your nights at his house but it wasn't the same as just hanging out like old friends.

You fell quiet so you could eat and Yamamoto watched you out of the corner of his eye. You were rolling your tongue around the top of your ice cream, lapping up the sweet substance of caramel, and as you shifted slightly to lick the cone's rough edges, you were innocent and seemingly unaware of his hot gaze.

The way you were eating was reminding him of something much naughtier…

He rolled his eyes at himself and forced himself to think rationally. All you were doing was eating your ice cream! There was no sexual implication to it or anything! Where in the world had _that _come from? Did he have to think like such a pervert?

If only you knew the thoughts in his head. Yamamoto sighed and went right back to his own vanilla ice cream. He realized he was starving and he all but wolfed it down, finishing it off in mere seconds. When he was done, he grabbed a napkin and quickly wiped his mouth of any smears.

But his gaze was drawn right back to you in a few moments. You weren't as fast of an eater as he was and your ice cream had started to melt. Drops of the white frozen treat had begun to run down the sides on the cone and onto your hand. You didn't seem to notice, for you were lost in your thoughts and you just sat there, absently licking the caramel in long, seductive strokes of your tongue. You only noticed when your hand was covered.

"Oh…" You blinked in surprise and then moved the cone into your other hand so you could suck it clean. Yamamoto watched intently as you stuck your fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around your digits and catching every last drop with the slippery appendage. When you cleaned off your palm, you gave a breathy noise of exasperation. Something close to a shudder threatened to wrack his body but Yamamoto held it off. He was getting harder by the second now, and this was a terrible place for him to have an erection, but what could he do? You were so sensual.

Now your hand was clean but the one currently holding the cone had caramel all over it and you raised it to your mouth. "Ah, God, it's _sticky,"_ you said softly.

A groan nearly tumbled from his lips. Yamamoto swallowed hard, silently, his throat suddenly thick. The simple act of you eating your ice cream, combined with that phrase, was erotic and he was already so hot and bothered—

A single, treacherous drop of ice cream fell and slipped down the front of your shirt.

He couldn't even imagine how cold the sensation must've been to you; for him, it was anything _but_ icy. You jolted upright with a squeal of surprise.

"Shit," you cursed quietly, reaching for a napkin. You wadded it up into a ball and, turning only slightly away from Yamamoto, went to stuff the napkin down your cleavage so you could clean it up.

_…fuck._

It was all Yamamoto could handle. He jumped up from his seat. There was a bulge in his pants, poorly concealing a boner that happened to be pulsing with frantic need. You'd have to be blind to miss it. "I'll just g-go wash my hands," he stammered and then he took off for the bathroom, leaving you sitting there with your half-melted ice cream, a baffled expression on your face. What the hell was he supposed to do now?!


	18. Torn Me Up

_"Well, now, I've had enough. Her pretty little face has torn me up. Put your hands all over me, please…" _

"And remember that time when I put makeup on you? I think I made you wear that sparkly blue eye shadow and that awesome red lipstick."

"I remember," Yamamoto replied, grinning at you over his shoulder. "You made a bet with me and told me that if I wore it all day, you'd give me your cool action figure."

You laughed, delighted that he recalled the memory. "I never gave you that action figure, did I? And you had to deal with the teasing all day, you poor thing."

"My masculinity did take quite a blow that day."

The two of you had retired to Yamamoto's room for the evening. You were lounging on your stomach on the bed, a gossip tabloid magazine spread before you, and he was sitting in his chair, finishing off a bottle of water, when in reality he was gazing at your beauty.

You had your legs swaying in the air, twined together loosely, and your painted (f/c) toenails looked like petals of an exotic flower. The position you were in exposed your belly and the top of your hips, as you wore an old, faded tank top and low-riding shorts that left your silky thighs mostly bare. Yamamoto had to quell the urge to run his fingers over the skin, to see if it was as smooth as it looked.

Yamamoto took another long sip from his water, letting it trickle slowly down his throat as you continued talking, reminiscing about the good old days.

"What about that other time where I convinced you that the dojo was haunted?" you said. You flipped through a few pages, and there was a smile on your lips. "You wouldn't go in there for a whole week!"

That was one memory that had him cringing in embarrassment every time he thought about it. Somehow you had convinced him that a ghost haunted the dojo, having been killed by his Tsuyoshi's sword, and Yamamoto couldn't work up the nerve to even step foot into the dojo. "Yeah…"

Your smile widened. "God, you were such a wussy back then, Yama-kun!"

"Shut up, I was not," he shot back.

"You were, too. And you were so scared whenever your dad would go in there for some training." Raising your head, you looked at Yamamoto. "You would always cry because you thought he wouldn't come back alive!"

"That's not true," he protested, although it was completely true and you both knew it. He would cry like a newborn baby each time Tsuyoshi went inside.

Mistaking his silence for embarrassment on his part, you clucked your tongue sympathetically. "Aw, don't feel too bad," you added, arching your back downward like a cat. He was offered a lovely view of your cleavage but, being a man, he kept his eyes trained on your face. "You're not a wuss anymore. You're far from it, in fact. I might even call you sexy."

Heat flushed throughout his body and Yamamoto liked that hot little rush. He was sexy, wasn't he? Well, he'd never though about himself in that aspect but if you thought he was…

Yamamoto set his water to the side and got to his feet. "(Y/n)," he said, advancing forward with his hands out in front of him, in the manner of a zombie. "Imma eat you for further damaging my pride…"

You giggled, rolling onto your back. "Come and get me."

"I will—"

His ankle caught the back of his chair and Yamamoto went sprawling, He tried to catch his balance again and almost did, grabbing onto the wall for support, but then his lame knee buckled and he flopped forward.

He just so happened to fall on top of you, just as you had been getting up and seeing as he was much heavier than you, his body pinned yours to the mattress in a rather snug fit.

The wind was knocked out of both of you, more so you than him. "Nnngh," you groaned, your eyes shut as you scrunched your brows together.

Yamamoto suddenly realized that he might have hurt you. He started to push himself off of you when he realized just how intimate this position was. You had a long, bare leg on either side of his and his chest was against yours, and each breath you took, he could feel the slight shift in your breasts. Damn, when had your breasts gotten so big and _full_? Your mouth was right by his ear and when you moaned again in pain, your breath blew gently into his earlobe, sending chills down his spine…

Quickly he got up, making sure not to hurt you anymore. "I'm so sorry, (y/n)!" he apologized frantically, searching your body for any injuries with his roaming eyes. "I didn't mean to fall on you!"

You sat up slowly, rubbing your shoulder. "I'm fine, I'm fine," you said, wincing in pain. Seemed he hit your shoulder hard and Yamamoto felt guilty for damaging such beauty. "I take back what I said about you, Yama-kun. You may not be a wuss anymore, but you're not sexy, either—you're a klutz!"

"Hey, now." Yamamoto didn't smile until you did first, and when he knew it was all right, he smiled back. Well. You didn't think he was sexy anymore? He'd show you.


	19. What a Wicked Thing To Do

_"What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream that dream of you…"_

* * *

Valentine's Day earlier that year was as fun and quirky as it was every year. You spent the afternoon beforehand at a chocolate store, picking out sweets for your circle of friends. Never mind that it happened to consist of the Vongola Guardians and a select handful of outsiders; you had friends to give chocolates to and that was all that mattered.

Most females in your class were either in love with Yamamoto or Gokudera, so the raven-haired/silverette couple got much more chocolates than any other guys in the school. Gokudera accepted most of them with an awkward smile and a gruff, "Thanks," that had the girls swooning on dizzy knees but Yamamoto made sure to grin in return for each and every single piece, his grin bright and dazzling, and he left the girls in befuddled states of bliss.

"You're such a heartbreaker, Yama-kun," you commented as you leaned your palm into your fist and watched another one scurry away, giggling and blushing like mad. "You keep this up and you're going to be in a lot of trouble with the upperclassmen."

"Nah, I'll just clear things up," he replied easily, setting the new chocolate onto his ever-growing pile atop his desk. The wooden structure looked ready to break under all the weight. "How am I ever going to eat all of this?"

"That's what (y/n)'s for," Tsuna joked. He gave you a wayward smile. The adorable brunette wasn't doing too bad himself, in terms of affection from the others, but his pile was nowhere near as large as Yamamoto's.

Gokudera slapped him appreciatively on the back. "Good one, Tenth! I'm impressed!" He then wrinkled his nose at you, like you were some piece of trash stuck to his shoe, and he spoke in a haughty British accent, "Girls are nothing more than chocolate pigs."

You gave an oink and he snorted his laughter, amused.

"No, seriously," Yamamoto said, and he sank down into his chair next to you, stretching out his long legs in front of him. "I'll gain a million pounds from eating all this chocolate. There's no way I'll be able to play baseball then. Coach'll have my ass."

You were a big fan of chocolate—mmm, so rich and gooey, and the way it ran down your throat in ribbons was absolutely divine—but your stomach hurt just from _looking_ at his collection. "I could help you with the first couple," you offered somewhat weakly, "but after that, it's all you."

He shook his head. "That won't do."

"Yeah, (y/n) doesn't really need to gain any weight, does she?" Tsuna said innocently.

"Hahaha, well, there's that." Yamamoto swiveled around to face you and his caramel-colored eyes were sparkling with that mirth of his. "I was planning on giving you chocolates myself, though. In fact…" He reached into the pocket of his baseball jacket and pulled out a small, rectangular box. "Here you go!"

You took it from him and gave it a quick look. He had gotten you white chocolate squares, your absolute favorite. "Ah, Yama-kun," you moaned loudly, and you could've sworn he blushed. "You shouldn't have."

"Ahahaha, but I did, so eat up."

Gokudera snatched it away from you and turned it over in his hands. "You know," he said slowly, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a smirk. "I heard somewhere that it takes an hour of rigorous sex to burn off five pieces of white chocolate."

Being the pure boy who probably never got that talk about birds and bees, Tsuna's face flamed. "Gokudera!" he exclaimed and the said bomber quickly apologized, then bowed his head over and over repeatedly for forgiveness.

You merely ignored the comment at first but Yamamoto surprised you with his words next.

"Yeah?" he said. Then he leaned closer to you and when you met his eyes, his gaze was uncharacteristically sensual. "In that case, then, go ahead and eat the whole box. I've got plans for tonight."

You would have never expected it from him, seeing as he was naïve and childlike, and so you promptly choked on the thin air. Then, sputtering to regain your composure, you smacked him in the shoulder. "You pervert!" God, did he really mean it? His eyes were so _intense_—

He only laughed that musical laugh of his in reply.


	20. All I Do Is Hide

"I cannot find a way to describe it. It's there, inside, and all I do is hide. I wish that it would just go away…"

* * *

As his leg slowly healed, Yamamoto decided that it was time he got back to baseball practice. He didn't want to, but he did anyway. The sport called to him and without the diamond dirt underneath his baseball cleats and his worn glove attached to his hand, he was uncharacteristically restless.

You knew he couldn't go on a day longer and you told him yourself.

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, scratching his head lightly. "Hahaha, you're right. I miss running the bases."

"Then go to practice tomorrow," you suggested.

"Well…"

In all honesty, you didn't want him to go. You didn't care how badly he missed the damn sport but he was better off staying away from it and the Namimori baseball field. The answer was obvious. You didn't want to risk having him run into your father. Seeing as he was Yamamoto's coach, there was virtually no way he could avoid him.

You fell silent and Yamamoto, who, despite his naïve childishness, managed to see everything about you, reached out. He caught your hand, his fingers encircling your wrist, and he tugged your arm gently. "You don't have to worry about me, (y/n)," he said. His voice had gone serious. "I can handle an encounter with him."

"I know you can," you replied, "but I'm not sure _he_ can."

But it was selfishness on your part, when you thought about it. Yamamoto was an active person and he needed the sport—but could you really let him go, knowing that your father was lurking around, ready to attack him at any given second?

You thought about it for a moment. Then you asked, "If he does anything, Yama-kun, _anything_…you have to tell me, okay?"

"(Y/n)—"

"You'll tell me, right? You have to."

"Sure, then." He nodded his head. Something like relief softened his eyes and he gave you a wide smile, sliding his hand down to quickly squeeze yours before pulling back. "I'll tell you."

So Yamamoto attended all of the baseball club meetings and the team's practices for the next week or so. Everything went smoothly and although you never let go of that suspicion entirely, you began to ease up. Maybe (l/n) had gotten over Yamamoto. Maybe he had only attacked the boy while he'd been drinking. That would really explain some things.

When Yamamoto started coming home with his arms covered by his baseball jacket sleeves, hidden from sight, and his legs in jeans and sweatpants, you took note of the subtle changes. He almost always returned from practice in a T-shirt because he was usually drenched in sweat. And he hated wearing full-length pants, too; he normally rolled them up or solved the problem by wearing shorts.

He was careful not to show much skin in your presence, aside from his face and neck and hands and wrists.

His smile was slightly strained.

You didn't say anything. You just pretended like everything was fine. You would play his game. Besides, you knew Yamamoto and if things were spiraling out of control, then he would tell you.

But it hurt, knowing he was hiding something from you.


	21. Burnt Out Tonight

_"The calm before the storm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight. A reception less than warm set it off. The sun burnt out tonight. This is me, standing in the arch of the door, hating that look that's on your face that says there's another fool like me…dead and gone…"_

* * *

Out of all the other Vongola Guardians, you liked Gokudera and Tsuna the best. Tsuna didn't really count, for he was the boss of the family, but you didn't really see him as a boss of anything and though that sounded offensive, the brunette preferred it that way.

You put up with Gokudera's attitudes and somewhat soft interior underneath that impossibly-hard-to-crack exterior. And you liked having Tsuna around. He was like a cute little brother.

The others weren't that bad, once you thought about it. Ryohei was fun and passionate about practically everything he did. Lambo was his little childish self. Hibari was, well, Hibari and he scared you but you tried not to show it. You had only spoken to Mukuro once or twice but you had gathered that he was a handsome master of illusions. Creepy, but handsome.

When it came to humanity levels, Hibari's were an all-time record low. He seemed to have no compassion under that cold face of his. Well, that wasn't true—you had seen him interact with his fluffy little bird and it was like a whole different person. Not that you would ever tell him what you'd seen. He would bite you to death for spying or something like that.

So you were surprised when he approached you during school.

"Herbivore," he said, and all the students around you froze up in the hallway. All of the heads whipped to the black-haired prefect to see just who he was talking about this time. When you looked, you found that his sharp, gray eyes were focused on you.

Everyone zipped out of that hallway and before you could even blink, they were all gone. Now it was just you and Hibari and a bunch of scattered papers and lockers left open in haste.

"What's up, Hibari-san?" you asked. He only narrowed his eyes at you and when he refused to say anything, you sighed. "I'm going to be late to class, you know. Sensei will kill me."

"Murder is not allowed on school grounds," he said dismissively and you almost snorted in amusement. You managed to muffle it with a cough.

Hibari continued staring at you for a minute. You didn't dare look away. His gaze was rather intimidating and your heart was pounding from anticipation. Was he going to attack first, or would you be able to run off?

"I'm not going to attack you, herbivore," he said, as if he could read your thoughts. "Relax." To reassure you, he twisted his lips upward into a smile but all it did was scare you even more.

"Then what is it?"

"Yamamoto Takeshi," he said bluntly. "His usual vigor was lacking poorly when we sparred this morning."

The Guardians had met before school to spar with one another. It was another one of Reborn's techniques for Tsuna, as well as the others, to improve. You were surprised to hear that Hibari had gone. Usually he skipped out on the activities that involved the others.

"Maybe he was tired." You shrugged. So Yamamoto wasn't energetic? Big deal. "He's been working hard for baseball."

Hibari shook his head. "No. He seemed about ready to pass out."

"Maybe he didn't get enough sleep," you countered.

"No," Hibari said again.

You bit the inside of your lip. The head prefect was beginning to annoy you. You were already late to class and all he was doing was holding you up for useless things about Yamamoto—

But lately, the male _had_ seemed exhausted. Almost as though he were in pain. Agony was a better word for it, actually; lately he had looked like he was in agony. Each time you questioned him about it, though, Yamamoto just waved it off with a, "Gotta stay in shape for baseball. Those weeks that I was out for really took their toll. Don't worry about it."

And yet here you were, worrying about it.

You ducked your head down in a respectful nod. "Thanks for telling me, Hibari-san," you said. "Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

He only frowned. "I do not wish to spar with a half-dead partner."

For Hibari to be concerned about Yamamoto, of all people, was alarming. Now your heart raced in terror. "I'll try and see why Yama-kun is—"

"Inappropriate relationships between students are not permitted, herbivore." He raised a hand; a tonfa was gripped in one and he stepped toward you menacingly. "That includes name-calling."

"Right," you responded quickly, moving back as he kept coming closer. "Well, now, if you'll excuse me—I, um, I have to get to class, so yeah—Hibari-san, p-please put that down—!"

You squeaked in fear when he swung his arm in a wide arc but all he did was bop his tonfa to your shoulder, in a light, almost joking manner. "You're dismissed." Then, giving you a curt nod, he was gone as mysteriously as he had come, and you rubbed your shoulder absently, lapsing into thought.


	22. Closing the Goddamn Door

_"I'd chime in with a, 'Haven't you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door? No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality…' "_

"Coach, are we gonna do the same practice we did last time?" one of the members of the baseball club asked, hefting a wooden bat on his shoulder. As he shifted it from one shoulder to the other, Yamamoto stepped back to avoid getting smacked in the face or something like that. He had always loved baseball, and he always would, but wooden bats made him wary…

(L/n) didn't even spare him a glance as he met the eyes of the boy who'd just spoken. "What, getting impatient?" he shot back. "Are your panties in a bunch, maggot, or can you find it in yourself to just wait for me to finish this goddamn attendance list?"

"Sorry, Coach," muttered the boy half-heartedly, not sounding sorry at all.

The older man grunted wordlessly in response as he continued to scratch something down in pen. After a few seconds, he cursed under his breath and stuck the pen back into his jeans, then raised his head to address the numerous baseball club members. "Grab your gloves and pair yourselves up, we're going to be practicing pitching."

Around Yamamoto, everyone bustled around to get dibs on partners. He stood calmly, leaning on his bat like it was a crutch, surveying the faces for a partner. One of the boys caught his eyes and Yamamoto started to smile, one that said _come-on-over-here-I-haven't-practiced-with-you-for-a-while-huh?_, when a bigger body frame moved in front of him.

Yamamoto felt his stomach roll. "Coach?"

"I'm going to help you," (l/n) said. "I think you could improve your pitching, Takeshi, and so I'm going to help you."

All of Yamamoto's senses went onto alert and he instinctively stood on the balls of his feet, preparing for anything. "Uh…" Out of all the people (l/n) could've picked, he had picked Yamamoto and the raven-haired male knew that nothing good could possibly come out of this. But he couldn't just flat-out refuse, even though he desperately wanted to.

(L/n)'s hand shot out, a blur of motion, and Yamamoto braced himself, throwing his own hands up to block whatever it was. "You're so jumpy," said (l/n) with a dry chuckle and Yamamoto was surprised to find that it was only a spare glove. "Calm down, will you?"

"It ain't that easy, Coach," Yamamoto laughed. It didn't take a fool to know that his laugh was fake but (l/n) didn't say anything, he only walked a few yards away from him and then spun around, reaching into his pocket for a baseball.

For a couple of minutes, the two warmed up in silence, tossing the ball back and forth between them. Yamamoto watched (l/n)'s face, looking for signs—of what exactly, he didn't know, but there was no rage or murderous intent on the man's hard-lined visage.

Was he still mad? Hell, yeah. Of course he was. Yamamoto couldn't say that he still didn't want to get (l/n) back for what he'd done, but…he had promised (y/n) and…

The ball hit his thigh with enough force to bruise and he inhaled sharply, hissing in pain. "Aaugh," he gasped.

"Better pay attention, maggot. Otherwise you're gonna get hurt," called out (l/n) rather lazily.

Yamamoto looked at him for a moment, unable to do anything else. _That sneaky bastard, he…!_

"Yeah," he said, practically spitting the word as he went to retrieve the ball. "I apologize."

Tipping his head back only slightly, the man brought his glove up and nodded. "Come on, hit me up with your best throw," he said, spreading his legs out into proper catching posture.

Well, since he had asked so nicely. Yamamoto gripped the baseball and cocked his arm back, and then he let it fly with a quiet grunt, putting forth all of his power into that throw. It sped in the air and even with his sharp eyes, he wasn't able to see the ball clearly for it was much too fast, and he waited for the satisfying sound it would make once it connected with (l/n)'s stomach—

But instead the man cleanly caught it in his glove. He didn't even flinch under the impact. "That's all you've got, Takeshi?" he sneered. "Damn, boy, then you've got a _lot_ of work to do…"

Yamamoto's competitive side kicked in and he knew he was glaring. "Show me, then, Coach."

(L/n)'s glare was just as aggressive. "I will—!"

And later, as Yamamoto walked home on fatigued, shaking legs, his entire body aching from having been hit over and over with a ball that seemed to have been thrown at one hundred miles per hour, he ran countless excuses through his head as he tried to come up with one suitable. There was no way (y/n) would believe any of them. How could he explain all of the ball-sized imprints on his flesh?

"Maybe Tsuna and Gokudera can help me come up with something," he said and with a resigned sigh, he detoured to Tsuna's house. He'd have to ask them to make up some crazy story and knowing them, they would…


	23. I Like Dangerous

_"I know some girls like good boys, but they just move too slow. You see, I like dangerous, it gives me such a rush, and that's why I won't let you go…" _

* * *

When Yamamoto stumbled into the room that evening, looking like something a cat had killed and dragged in, you couldn't take it anymore. Enough was enough. You jumped to your feet and planted your hands on your hips, giving him the worst evil eye.

He took one look at you and a tired smile flickered on his lips. "What? What did I do this time?"

God, he knew that smile of his was infectious, no matter how out of it he was. Suddenly you wanted to forget being mad about him and—and then what? No, you wouldn't fall for his boyish charm again and you chose to not reply, pressing your lips into a thin line.

When he realized you weren't going to answer him, Yamamoto only sighed lightly and closed the door behind him. He dropped his baseball duffle on the floor, leaving it to lie on the carpet. "(Y/n)," he said, "sorry, but do you mind? I need to change out of my clothes and it'd be nice if you left the room for me to do that."

"Why?" you finally responded. "It's never bothered you before."

He hesitated. "Well, yeah, but…"

"You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

"Huh?" Yamamoto's eyes widened fractionally, and then he struggled to look innocent, trying to get his face to settle. "What're you talking about, (y/n), honestly—"

You hated doing this to him but there was no other way. It was cruel on your part, though, and you knew it. You moved forward, advancing on him and he tried to move back, but there was nowhere to go because he was already up against the door.

"What did my father do, Yama-kun?" you demanded.

"Nothing," he replied, too quickly. He wasn't looking you in the eye, either.

You giggled softly. "I know you too well, you know. You can't really hide anything from me."

"And you're saying you don't hide anything from me?" he countered. Harsh, but not as harsh as what you were about to do.

You only tilted your head to the side, reaching out for him. He didn't move as you buried one of your hands into his hair, running your fingers through it and reveling in the feel, and with your other hand, you cupped his cheek. "I hope you're not angry at me," you breathed, moving up against him so that his body was trapped in between yours and the door. A rather risky position. Up this close, you could count each individual one of his lashes. "Because lately it seems that you've been keeping secrets from me, Yama-kun…"

Yamamoto unconsciously licked his lips quickly. "What could I possibly hide from you?" he said. His voice was hoarse. Something had flooded over his eyes and they had incredibly darkened.

"Nothing." _You could never hide anything from me, don't you know?_

You leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. Gently, teasingly, making like you were going to pull away. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat and Yamamoto grabbed your hips, holding you in place, as he shifted his mouth to meet your lips.

You made sure not to let the kiss go out of hand. He was a fantastic kisser, and that surprised you. You could easily get lost in his lips. It would be so easy to close your eyes and open your mouth, to let him have access to your tongue with his, but you had a reason behind this sudden onslaught.

Before he could say or do anything else, you had broken the contact and you had unzipped the front of his baseball jacket. Now you jerked the cloth away from his body, away from his abdomen, and you glimpsed the skin of his forearms and his neck—

They were covered in bruises. His neck was all marked up with various things, ranging from scratches to small pebbles to what looked like the soles of cleats. His arms were worse. The tops of his forearms were swollen with baseball-sized lumps and the most recent ones were fresh and red.

You stared at them for a moment and Yamamoto let you look. His hands still rested on your hips. When you finally raised your eyes to look at him, he smiled, although it was more of a grimace than anything.

"Fascinating, right? I'm going to see Dr. Shamal tomorrow for some healing salve." He leaned his head back. "Maybe you should come with me, (y/n). He prefers pretty young girls."

"You promised me you'd tell me," you murmured. "Yama-kun…"

"I'm sorry." He exhaled. "I have no excuse for breaking that promise."

"Damn right." You glanced at them again. They looked painful. A lot of the recent ones were bleeding and it had gotten onto his shirt. "Ah, all right." Well, what could be done? How could you possibly be mad after what he'd suffered? It was all for you, you had to remind yourself. "Go get cleaned up. Take a shower. Then I want to see you dressed and ready to go."

"Go where?"

"To that pervert of a doctor's, where else?"

His smile was genuine. "You're wonderful," he said. There was no mistaking the affection in his voice.

You nodded. "I know."


	24. Swimming in Your Water

_"…but swimming in your water is something spiritual. I'm born again every time you spend the night…oh, yeah, yeah…"_

You literally dragged Yamamoto out of his house and to Shamal's, stopping on the way only once at Tsuna's house to rouse a sleepy-looking Gokudera awake. You needed directions because you didn't know where Shamal was hidden. Gokudera wasn't very happy about having been woken from a deep sleep but with a little help from Tsuna, you managed to get him to mumble the address. He even graciously offered to accompany you...kissing up to Tsuna's ass, no doubt.

It hadn't even been five minutes into the examination and already you were furious enough to grab the perverse doctor and hurl him out of the window (among other things that involved a certain sensitive part of male anatomy).

"Damn it, Shamal, would you stop-?! How many times do I have to tell you to stop feeling me up?" you shrieked, cracking him good across the face with your palm.

He didn't even feel it. "Ah, but dear (y/n), your body is so tantalizingly delicious!~" He wiggled his fingers and as quick as a flash, he had them jammed up in your shirt again, working on taking off your bra.

With another scream, you kneed him hard in the gut and, for good measure, punched his shoulder. "Quit touching me!"

Yamamoto watched everything happen with a bemused expression and over in the corner sat Gokudera. He seemed to be sleeping but you weren't sure if he really had conked out or if he was just ignoring you all.

Shamal straightened up, running his hands over his white coat. If you hadn't witnessed him perform miracles on Tsuna and others before, you would've thought the coat was just a prop. "You pack a mean punch," he said and he scratched his wispy beard, giving you a smirk. "What else do you pack, (y/n)? Care to show me?"

"Of course not," you responded.

Yamamoto picked this opportunity to intervene. "Doctor, would you mind helping me out? We didn't come here for you to grope her, you know," he said.

"No good," responded the older man with a shake of his head. "I don't examine boys."

You had figured he would answer along those lines but it still made you mad. "We came all this way; it's the least you could do."

Shamal pretended to consider. "Well, maybe if you let me grab a breast," he started.

"No!" You covered your chest with your hands.

Yamamoto sighed. "Doctor," he warned.

"It's the only way I'll examine you, sorry."

Well, if it was the only way. You dropped your hands down and looked down, at the floor. "As long as you check Yama-kun, then I guess I can let you touch my chest…"

The doctor was silent for a moment, observing you with strangely keen eyes. Then he cursed under his breath. "Jeez, really. You kids will do anything for each other." He went over to where Yamamoto sat, grabbing a canister of salve from the cabinet. "Forget it, (y/n), I don't want a pity grope. You'll just owe me."

With a smooth twist of his hands, he uncapped the salve and a sweet scent filled the air. Yamamoto pulled his shirt off. "Catch," he said, and tossed it to you. Now that his entire abdomen was visible, you could see the rest of the scrapes and bruises on his skin and you had to admit that it shook you up, seeing him like that. How could he smile, day to day, and go to baseball practice, knowing he would receive even more?

Something must've shown on your face, for Yamamoto said, "It's not as bad as it looks. I promise."

"They're just flesh injuries," Shamal added, in a rare attempt to ease your worries.

You only murmured, "All right," and you stood with Yamamoto's shirt twisted tightly in your hands as the doctor began applying the medicine. As it came into contact with the tender, puckered skin near his ribs, Yamamoto hissed in pain and bit his lip, trying to keep any more sounds from escaping. You turned away. Gokudera was sitting silently in his chair, his eyes open now, watching with a careful expression.

After a few minutes, Shamal moved away. "I hate to tell you this, Takeshi, but you're gonna want to start skipping baseball again," he said, wiping his hands unprofessionally against his coat. "You keep this up and your body's really going to hurt."

Surprisingly, Yamamoto didn't argue. "Yeah," he said, rolling his shoulder and working out the kinks.

"Wanna tell me how you got all of this?" When Yamamoto kept quiet, you glanced up and found that Shamal was looking at _you. _

"Um…no, no, I…not really," you stammered. Not with Gokudera around. Not with all of the emotions raging within your heart. You couldn't.

He nodded. "I understand." Then he wheeled onto the silverette. "And you, dumbass, I don't want you drooling on my chair, get it?"

"Fuck off," Gokudera drawled lazily but Shamal kept squawking and soon the two were bickering like five-year-olds, throwing insults and hitting each other.

You moved over to Yamamoto and handed him his shirt back. He couldn't put it on yet, for his back was still wet with salve, and so he lay it in his lap and then gave you a look. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm so sorry—"

You broke off when he leaned forward and pecked you on the cheek. "Nope, I don't want to hear it," he said. "I think I've told you before, (y/n), I don't want to hear that you're sorry. _You have nothing to be sorry about._"


	25. Private Show

_"Baby, are you ready, 'cause it's getting cold. Don't you feel the passion ready to explode? What goes on between us, no one has to know, this is a private show, ohh…"_

"Hey, Yama-kun, won't you dance with me?"

Yamamoto looked up from the sink at you. You were sitting at one of the tables with your textbooks spread out before you and you'd been working on History only moments before, furiously trying to memorize numerous dates and battles. Now you had put away your books and you were smiling at him.

"Uh, dance?" he echoed. "What do you mean by that?"

"What do you think? Let's dance!"

He sighed. Tsuyoshi wasn't coming home until the later hours of the evening and he had told Yamamoto to clean up the sushi bar. Already Yamamoto had wiped down all of the tables and put away the food and he was working on cleaning the last of the dishes. He still had a few more piles of platter to wash. You had been busying yourself with homework but now that you were finished, he knew you would bother him with questions and random statements—

"(Y/n), as much as I'd love to, we can't. I'm not done yet," he answered.

"Why not?"

"There's not much room to, for starters."

"That's easy!" you replied enthusiastically. "We can just push a few tables out of the way and we'll have our own little dance floor!"

Oh, so you already had it all figured out. Yamamoto glanced up as he scrubbed down another plate to find that you were on your feet. "And there's the obvious fact that I can't dance," he added.

"I'll teach you!"

Your smile was so brilliant that he just had to give in. Damn it, you were too cute. "Hahaha, okay, okay," he laughed, "just give me a sec."

"Sure!"

He quickly rinsed the plate in his hand and then ran his hands under the water, washing away the soap suds. After he had wiped his hands dry, he took off Tsuyoshi's apron he wore around his waist and then joined you where you stood, pushing away a few tables for space.

God, he knew he would embarrass himself. He had absolutely no idea when it came to dancing. Dancing required a grace, an elegance that he did not possess. It was almost amusing, knowing he was confident in baseball but when taken out of his element and put in the hands of a pretty girl—but not just any girl, it was _you_ he'd be dancing with—and all that confidence seemed to evaporate—

When you met his eyes, he smiled. He was nervous. It was cringingly obvious.

"Don't worry," you said, "I'll take good care of you." Was that a mischievous twinkle in your (e/c) eyes or was that just his imagination playing tricks on him again?

You placed one of your hands on his shoulders and simultaneously grabbed one of his hands, guiding it to your waist. He lightly cupped your hip and his face grew warm, for some unknown reason. Was he blushing? He hoped not.

"Here, take my hand." Following your instruction, he did, already knowing without having to look that your fingers would fit perfectly in the spaces between his. It had always been like that. Once he was firmly holding your hand, you stepped closer so that your chest was against his.

When no further instruction came, Yamamoto thought maybe he was doing something wrong. After all, he had never danced before. There had never been any reason to. "What now?"

"Guess." Your voice was secretively coy.

"Um…oh! Do we need music?"

"The music's in our hearts."

Was there supposed to be music in his heart? All his heart was doing was pounding to an irregular beat. The same rhythm, the same timing, of _ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump…_

"Take a step to the left," you said, and he quickly calculated the direction of your left before stepping that way. When you giggled, he faltered. "The _other_ left."

"Oh. Sorry."

The dancing lesson continued for the next twenty minutes or so. He'd always been a fast learner and Yamamoto eventually caught on. He felt confident enough to lead you around the sushi bar in a moderately fast dance and the two of you laughed. Time seemed to slip away. He was glad he'd given into your demand, for he was enjoying dancing.

After a while, he led you into a freestyle slow dance and he swayed with you in the middle of the floor. You rested your head lightly on his chest, humming a song under your breath, and he could feel the vibrations travel from your mouth to his skin—a pleasant sensation.

"Want to know something?" you finally said, in the middle of your humming.

"Yeah?"

You lowered your voice to a whisper and gave him a sheepish smile. "I lied. I don't know how to dance, either."

Laughter fell from his throat again and he closed his eyes, chortling for a moment. Then he wrapped his arms around your waist and hoisted you up into the air. "Hahaha, (y/n), of course you don't!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, squealing when he spun you around. "Ah! Yama-kun, you're going to drop me! Careful!"

"I'm always careful," he replied. You were such a strange one. Dancing in a sushi bar? Not something one did every day. But he liked you strange; he wouldn't have liked you any other way.

It was moments like those that Yamamoto seemed to forget all the misery you were in. Here was where you could relax. Right now, with him.


	26. Water Set on Fire

_"…water set on fire and it lights up the sky…they say it burns sometimes, but no one knows why. The water gets so hot that it boils up under the moon…"_

He wasn't going to baseball practice again that afternoon—he'd decided that listening to Shamal's advice would probably be best for now—and you were relieved to hear it. There were a number of reasons to your sense of relief, the most obvious one being that Yamamoto wouldn't have to suffer at the hands of your raging father. But you were also happy because a baseball-free afternoon meant an afternoon spent with him.

Recently you had entered a particularly difficult unit in Ancient Literature and the entire concept was making no sense whatsoever to you. Worried about your grade and the possibility of it spiraling downward, you frantically contacted Gokudera, as he had been your tutor for math earlier in the years. He was reluctant to help you but when you subtly threw in the fact that Tsuna was struggling, too, Gokudera was all for it. (Oh, it was much too easy with him.)

So the three of you, plus Yamamoto, were all headed for the public library after school for some studying. As always, with Yamamoto's presence, Gokudera was in a foul mood; but he seemed to be like that all the time so you paid it no mind.

The bomber had let up on his insults about Yamamoto as of late, though, and you weren't sure whether or not it had to do with the fact that he'd seen all of the bruises and scrapes…

"—and I ended up failing my test today in Literature!" Tsuna was saying, looking rather dejected about his score. He walked with a careful sense, his hands clutching his books at one side, his brown eyes glancing this way and that almost nervously, like he was waiting for Reborn to pop out from a branch and scream.

Ah, he was so cute that you could almost die. Tsuna was everything you had ever wished for in a little brother. Gokudera was more of a gruff cousin than anything and Yamamoto—

You'd always thought of him as the boyfriend. Not that you _wanted_ him to be your boyfriend or anything, but he had always been the perfect fit.

"Hahaha, don't beat yourself up over it, Tsuna!" said the raven-haired male with a grin. "It's just a test; you can easily regain those lost points with homework and other stuff!"

"What did you get on it, Yamamoto?" Tsuna inquired. He looked hopeful for a second there.

"Eh, I missed one question," he responded, much to your surprise. Tsuna stared at him incredulously and in his disbelief, he tripped over a rock.

Gokudera reached out to grab him and hold him upright, keeping him from falling. "Oi! Careful, Tenth!" Once Tsuna was back on his feet, Gokudera whipped around to glare at Yamamoto. "Watch it, you almost made Tenth fall! And there's no way you could have possibly missed only one," he started.

"But I did," Yamamoto answered. "Here, I'll show you." He stuck his hand into his back pack and after rummaging around for a moment, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. True to his word, he _had _only missed one.

"…you lucky bastard," Gokudera grumbled. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and huffed.

You had to laugh at his reaction. "God, Gokudera-kun, you're such a drama queen! What's the matter? What did _you_ get?"

He muttered something inaudibly.

"Sorry, can you repeat that?"

"I said, I missed two," he said loudly, and if it was possible, his glare intensified as he looked at you. You only gave him a sweet smile in return, hooking your both your arms through his for a hug.

"Well, then, seems that this study session will benefit all of us!" Before Tsuna could ask, you said, "I only got five right, so I think I did the worst. When compared to mine, your scores are all amazing! Good job!"

Yamamoto chuckled. "Right on, (y/n)!" He patted your head fondly.

Gokudera tried to untangle himself from you. "Let go of me, woman, you're making me feel claustrophobic."

You wished it was always like this. You could get used to this. The easy vibe that floated around in the atmosphere almost made you forget all the troubles you were currently juggling with on the side. Just hanging out with friends, worrying about tests and books and other things all normal teenagers worried about…you liked it.

As Gokudera tried unsuccessfully to push you off, you only clung to him more tightly. "But, Gokudera-kun!" you protested. "I love you! You're so hot!" Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tsuna give you a nervously amused smile.

Yamamoto, feeling rather left out, by the look on his face, said, "Sure, he might be hot—but we all know I'm much hotter! Right, (y/n)?"

You glanced at him for a moment. That smile. So damn deceptive. He hid many things behind that wide smile. Behind those shining teeth lay secrets terrible and twisted and knowing that you were the one who had dragged him into your world of discord…

If you hadn't gotten him involved, he would have been left untouched.

"Right, (y/n)?" he said again.

"Gokudera-kun makes you look about as hot as an ice cube," you dead-panned, and though you had just insulted him, Yamamoto snickered at your choice of words. The bomber himself even cracked a smile—after all, he had been told he was better than Yamamoto.

Tsuna couldn't help himself then. "As Onii-san would say it, 'BUUUUUURN!'" he hollered in a deep voice, imitating the extreme Ryohei. The four of you then burst out in laughter.

Yeah. You really could get used to this.


	27. Sink

_"…I sink, hating all around me. I sink, vomiting up my decency. I sink, finding love in my monster."_

He lay awake that night, unable to sleep. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to fall into the soft, feathery touches of slumber.

It was surprising—Yamamoto should have been able to sleep. He was so worn out from baseball practice. Coach had been hell-bent on correcting his every little mistake. When he had slowed down from running first base to third, Coach had harped on him. When he hammered a ball into the foul zone, Coach insisted he practice 200 swings until he could hit a run on the first pitch; each time he hit a foul, it was another 200 swings. And when he accidently slipped on the grass and dropped the ball, his punishment had been to run fifty laps around the diamond.

Yamamoto did all of that under the swelteringly hot sun and by the time practice finished, he had been about ready to pass out.

Then Reborn called for a family meeting at the park. When Yamamoto arrived, the spunky baby decided that a sparring session was necessary for the growth of Tsuna's skills. Due to the fact that Hibari was nowhere to be found, Yamamoto sparred with an extremely energetic Ryohei.

Exhaustion should have conked him out once his head hit the pillow but Yamamoto found himself incapable of catching even a _second_ of sleep tonight.

And it seemed he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon, either.

He closed his eyes and exhaled silently. Goddamn, it didn't help that his body ached like it had been run over by truck. Each time he moved, pain shot up his spine, white-hot, burning like fire. It flowed through his veins and scorched the insides of his bones. Every little breath he took hurt like Hell—

"Yama?"

Your voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear you when you murmured his name. Yamamoto snapped his eyes open and craned his neck around, rolling onto his side to look at you.

You stared back at him through heavy-lidded, sleep-muddled eyes. Even in the shadows, it was hard to miss the shiny tracks on your cheeks: tears. He hadn't known you'd cried in your sleep. It had been so quiet.

"Yama?" you said again. He could see you, but you couldn't see him and your breath hitched with panic. "Yama-kun, a-are you—"

"I'm here," he whispered. Upon hearing his voice, your face visibly relaxed and his heart just broke a little more. "I'm here," he said again, as if confirming it to himself, and he reached out to stroke your forehead lightly. "Go back to sleep, (y/n)."

"I thought you left me…" Your words slurred into one another as slumber hooked its claws into you once more. Your eyelids dropped. "Sleep…? But it's so hard…"

Just before you fell asleep once more, you scooted closer to Yamamoto and buried your face into his neck; he jumped when your lips ghosted over his earlobe. Your delicate hands slipped under his arms and you pressed your palms to his shoulder blades. He shifted around slightly to make you comfortable, looping one arm around your waist to hold you close.

"_Takeshi,"_ you breathed.

Yamamoto shuddered. God, the way you said his name—

The fire blazed on beneath the cloak of his skin but he knew he would have given anything up for that moment. He would offer his heart on a platter to your father if it meant one night of just holding you in his arms, as he was doing now. And it was so fucking cruel, knowing that you were in misery and he was only able to do this _because _of that misery, but…

"I'm so low," he muttered to himself. He was. He was low and he knew it.

Pushing away all thoughts of desire, he set about to holding you in the haven of his arms, closing his eyes and calling upon the tranquility of rain to wash over the both of you.


	28. Drenched

_"My heart is drenched in wine, but you'll be on my mind forever…"_

"Did you see that last hit I made?" Yamamoto asked as he jogged over to where you stood, your hands tucked deep in the pocket of the jacket you wore—his baseball jacket, the one with his last name printed on the back in block letters. "It was a triple!"

"Yeah, I saw it," you told him. "Nice hit."

"Hahaha, thanks!"

It was the end of third quarter and Namimori was winning by one. They were playing against their longtime rival, Kaminariku. By English translations, it literally meant "the thunder wind" and they sure played like thunder. The only reason why Namimori was currently ahead was all because of the tall male standing in front of you, his head tossed back as he gulped down greedy mouthfuls of water.

You hadn't wanted Yamamoto to attend tonight's game—after all, he was supposed to be healing and Shamal had even warned him about playing. But the team needed him. Yamamoto couldn't let his buddies down.

He had felt bad about going against your wishes and so he invited you to come and watch. "It'll be fun, I promise," he said. When you gave him a reluctant look, he nodded encouragingly. "Trust me!"

If you didn't know him as well as you did, you'd have thought he was dense.

So far, your father hadn't seen you yet. He was in the dugout with the rest of the team and you had taken great care in choosing your own seat. You were hidden behind a lively Kaminariku family and they were rather loud in their comments, but you didn't mind. Your father _hated _rambunctious people, so he'd given the family one withering look in the beginning of the game before turning away and he hadn't so much as glanced over here since then.

Yamamoto wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the one still wearing his batting gloves. "You look jumpy," he observed, and he tucked a stray lock of (h/c) hair behind your ear gently, his touch lingering, as he brushed your cheek with his thumb. "What's the matter?"

"I'm just worried about _him_," you said, cutting your eyes over to where your father stood before the team, his mouth moving rapidly. He was probably trying to pep them up for the last quarter—or he was threatening them, more likely. The rambunctious family was watching the two of you, whispering not-so-subtly amongst themselves.

"He hasn't seen you yet," he reassured you, "though he is wondering why I keep coming over here, instead of staying with them in the dugout."

"Well then, get back on over there!" You flicked his nose and then looked shyly down at the ground. His cleats were wet with clumps of earth.

Yamamoto saluted goofily. "Aye, aye, Captain (y/n)!" With a saucy wink, and that irresistible laugh of his, he jogged back down the stands.

You watched him go, blushing only a little when Mr. Rambunctious raised his brows at you. "He's, um, he's not my b-boyfriend," you stammered, in an unnecessary attempt to clear things up.

"Uh-huh."

"It's true!" you exclaimed, blushing even harder. The man chuckled, amused. "It's true, really, he—n-never mind. Sorry."

This game was the closest you'd gotten to your father in a long time, ever since you slapped him a couple of weeks ago. You weren't sure how you were supposed to feel about him not having noticed you yet. Should you be relieved or hurt? It was confusing.

But you were glad he hadn't done anything to Yamamoto yet. He couldn't. Not with Yamamoto being the star of the game. But that didn't mean much, and it didn't do anything to comfort you…

You broke out of your thoughts as the Namimori players ran out onto field, taking their positions on the bases. Soon the Kaminariku batter walked up to home plate, testing his swing as he walked. The crowd around you cheered, gleefully awaiting the action of the fourth quarter.

But even as the Namimori players tossed various baseballs between themselves, warming up, the pitcher didn't step out onto his mound. You sat up a little straighter and scanned the uniforms, looking for the familiar number. Yamamoto wasn't out there.

You looked back at the dugouts in time to see (l/n) smash his forearm hard into Yamamoto's face, catching him upside the chin.

No one else saw it. (L/n) had his back to everyone else, shielding the two of them from view and it was sneaky on his part. You expected something like this from him. There weren't any other Namimori players in the dugout—

A gasp was ripped from your throat but you slapped your hands over your mouth.

Yamamoto was caught off-guard but he had sharp reflexes. He darted backward the second (l/n)'s forearm connected with his chin. He dodged in time to miss the worst of it, but it still hit him and you watched as he staggered back against the wall, one hand to his chin.

The two exchanged some words. Yamamoto said something, then your father shot back something.

But what chilled you the most—

And when you saw it, you barely kept from shrieking—

Your father whirled around, his (e/c) eyes blazing in cold fury, and pointed _straight at you._

You bolted up from your seat. Your heart was pounding wildly against your chest and you were sure everyone around you could hear it. Mr. Rambunctious even turned around to look at you, his face etched with lines of concern.

Yamamoto slowly jogged onto the field, headed for the pitcher's mound, his steps seemingly sluggish and uncoordinated.

You ran from there, as fast as you could.


	29. Reason Why

_"I've put myself on the line. I'm tired of wasting my time. There's got to be a reason why…"_

Yamamoto was frantic once he reached his house.

He had caught sight of you running from the diamond earlier on, and it had been right after (l/n) smacked him. He had desperately wanted to throw down his glove and race after you so he could catch you and hold you against the chest of his grass-stained uniform, and tell you that it was all right.

But he couldn't—he had been in the middle of a baseball game, damn it—and at that moment, Yamamoto had felt something he'd never felt before: hatred for the sport he loved.

That hatred transitioned into his game and Yamamoto's pitches were sloppy. He walked five guys and accidently hit three of them.

In the end, Namimori lost by two runs.

After the game, he sprinted into the locker room ahead of the rest of the team and took the world's quickest shower, not even bothering to do more than run his body underneath the icy water. The shower had been enough to wash off the dirt. He threw all of his clothes in his duffle bag and shimmied into a clean set of fresh sweats, eager to go home, to go to you—but then (l/n) himself decided that he wanted to have a quick talk with all of them.

Yamamoto paid no attention to any of the words he said.

The lights of his house were off and Yamamoto almost started panicking. Even the window of his room was dark. Thoughts along the lines of _Shit, is she in there?_ ran through his brain as he struggled to shove his window open, completely forgetting that he could enter his own house through the front door. He just wanted to see you. He wanted to make sure you hadn't run off to do something crazy, but knowing you—

With the nimbleness of a panther, Yamamoto sprang into his room. He hadn't even set both feet onto the carpet before you were on him, your arms tightening around his neck in a death hug.

"(Y-Y/n)!" he wheezed, choking from both your grip and exhaustion at having run all the way home. Damn, he probably looked insane, with his hair sticking up everywhere and his shoes all scuffed from running. He probably stunk, too.

But you didn't seem to care as you continued hugging him and Yamamoto, suddenly awkward and embarrassed, patted your back gently, not sure what else to do. All his emotions of love for you, they were all swirling within his chest and he wasn't sure if he could keep them locked away any more. It was becoming harder to do so with each passing moment.

When you finally pulled away, your grip loosening enough, you still stood with your body pressed against his. Oh, _God_—you wore a cotton tank top and your breasts may as well have been bare, the way they felt on his abdomen.

You gazed up at him; your cheeks shone in the moonlight, a sure sign that you'd cried. "Yama-kun," you said, and your voice was barely more than a whisper. "Your chin, is it—I mean, did my father—he—!"

One glance down at your lips, your well-shaped lips, and Yamamoto couldn't take it anymore. He snatched your face in his hands, one palm cradling the back of your neck and the other holding your cheek, and smashed his mouth onto yours. Hot and feverish, he kissed you like the world would end if he didn't. And it felt so _good. _ He groaned when you nipped at his lip, then opened your mouth for access to that moist cavern of yours. You ran your fingers through his hair in a seductive manner, and if Yamamoto was a cat, he would've started purring at that moment.

He only broke the kiss when he needed air and you gasped quietly, trying to catch your breath. Yamamoto did the same, watching you, admiring you shamelessly. The adrenaline and frantic need that had drummed through his veins earlier was now replaced with lust. Pure hormonal lust. Just the act of standing there was getting harder—_yes—harder—fuck—(y/n)— ngh-h— explosive—orgasm—_

But as he searched your face, Yamamoto was stunned to see that there wasn't any desire.

There was love, yes…

But there was also pity.

The way he felt for you, you didn't quite feel the same way for him.

You stroked his chin gently, your fingers a fleeting touch, and it was like pouring salt into his wounds. He knew his chin would only be bruised, nothing else. "I'm not hurting you, right?" you asked, carefully turning his head to the left so you could inspect his chin at a better angle in the faint moonlight.

_And if I told you that you were…?_

"Of course not," he muttered, closing his eyes and unconsciously leaning into your touch. "You could never hurt me."


	30. City's Crazy

_"There's only so much I can do for you, after all of the things you put me through…this city's crazy and we must get out." _

* * *

"There was this bastard walking alongside me this morning[**1**]," Gokudera began.

Tsuna gave him a (tolerant) patient smile.

Yamamoto didn't say anything, he only continued walking with his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans. He drifted on behind them, his pace slowing as he got lost in his thoughts.

You had stayed behind at his house, opting not to walk with the three of them this morning like you usually did. When he questioned you on it, you merely waved it off, saying you wanted a little extra time to "pretty yourself up," as you put it. If you had asked him, he would have told you that you were already pretty enough.

Yamamoto had been hesitant to let you stay. He had no way of knowing if you really had any intention of primping yourself up. You could have just said that as an excuse…

He knew you blamed yourself. You thought it was your fault (l/n) had hit him. Yamamoto had told you over and over again that it wasn't your fault but he knew you didn't believe him.

"And he sneezed on me. He didn't even try to block it or anything, he just turned and sneezed in my face."

Tsuna wrinkled his nose. "That's gross," he said.

The silverette huffed indignantly. "It was, Tenth, the guy got snot all over me and everything! So I thought to chew him out for it, but I was pretty tired and I ended up saying, 'God bless you.' "

When Yamamoto woke up sometime around four in the morning with a painful erection, he'd quietly taken his arms off your sleeping form and he slunk away to the bathroom for a cold shower. He had examined his face in the mirror. His chin was unmarked, save for an irregular-shaped bruise that was (l/n)'s knuckle. It was just sore. He had managed to dodge the hit in time.

Even so, having your father attack him wasn't the worst part.

_"I know she's up there, maggot,"_ (L/n) had snarled, pointing a gnarled finger in the direction of the stands, directly where you'd been sitting. _"You can't keep her hidden from me much longer. Sooner or later, I'm going to find her. And that bitch's gonna get what she deserves. For now, though, maggot, it's just you and me…"_

Yamamoto thought you were safe. He had taken all of the bruises and scrapes but it had been worth it, knowing you were safe. To suddenly realize that you weren't safe anymore made him feel strangely numb.

"—and he gives me this shitty look and replies, 'I'm an atheist.' " At this, Tsuna looked a little confused and Gokudera filled him in with, "Someone who doesn't really believe in God."

"Oh," Tsuna said, nodding.

It hadn't always been like this. Yamamoto remembered a time where your dad was one of the coolest on the block. He would always come over to the sushi bar and talk to Tsuyoshi about politics, and school, and baseball. (L/n) had been Yamamoto's baseball coach back then, too, when he played for fun. But that had been years ago, when the two of you were little children.

A lot had changed since then.

"Here, this bastard is questioning my beliefs! He's _laughing_ at me! And I was pissed, so I turned to him and asked what he thought would happen when he died." Gokudera snorted as he fumbled around in his jacket, looking for that pack of cigarettes he always seemed to have. "Apparently he thinks he'll become 'one with the earth' and shit like that. He thinks he'll become a tree!" He pulled a cigarette out and lit it, all in one smooth movement.

Yamamoto didn't know exactly when your dad began drinking alcohol. Personally, he thought the stuff was disgusting. He had tried it once, a couple of years ago—Tsuyoshi kept it locked in the cellar and Yamamoto had been curious—and it was terrible. He ended up running to the bathroom and spitting the amber-colored liquid back out.

How could ianyone/i drink it, day after day? It burned like fire and tasted like vomit. Not a pleasant combination.

Apparently your father liked alcohol and the changes in his personality had been evident. He started falling silent and he would have anger bursts ever now and then. He would rant on and on about things that made absolute no sense—diamond swords?[**2**] Men with white hooded capes stalking him?[**3**]—and the police had visited his house on multiple occasions.

And then he began taking it out on his daughter. On _you._ Every single night.

Gokudera's voice drifted back into Yamamoto's ears. "And wouldn't it be nice if this fucking sweaty guy came and chopped him up? And then he threw him into a grinder and ground him down? This bastard'll be pound into paper, and when he's paper, I hope someone prints the Bible on him!"

Tsuna, despite himself, was laughing at Gokudera's furious reaction. Though Yamamoto hadn't listened to most of it, he had gotten the gist and it was pretty amusing; he cracked a smile, with a little chuckle.

"Oh, are you done thinking?" Tsuna asked innocently, glancing back at him.

"You could say that," Yamamoto replied in a mysterious tone. When Tsuna cocked his head questioningly, Yamamoto just shook his head and said, with a wave of his hand, "Just kidding. I'm done."

"Damn, you missed my story!" Gokudera fumed. "I ain't repeating it for you, dumbass."

"I heard most of it," Yamamoto lied.

The school building came in sight and Gokudera, still grumbling to himself, went on ahead. Yamamoto followed behind but he was surprised when Tsuna nudged him with his elbow.

"Everything's fine, right?" asked the brunette. His brown eyes were sharp and keen and Yamamoto was almost taken aback by the look in them.

"Yeah. Everything's fine."

For a moment, Tsuna looked like he didn't buy that answer. Then he smiled and Yamamoto smiled back quickly, making sure to mask his face of any pain or doubt. He couldn't let poor, sweet Tsuna know what was going on. Under any other circumstances, he'd love to, but he knew quite well you'd be pissed.

* * *

**[1]** – Taken from comedian Dane Cook's skit "Atheist Sneeze". So funny. Go watch it on youtube and I guarantee you'll die of laughter!

**[2]** – Reference made to "I Can Swing My Sword (Minecraft Song)" on youtube. If you're a fan of Minecraft, you will love it.

**[3]** – Assassin's Creed, anyone?


	31. Do What I Want

_"I can do what I want. I'm in complete control. That's what I tell myself! I've got a mind of my own, I'll be all right alone. That's what I tell myself!" _

Fuck school.

Fuck putting on your uniform.

Fuck prettying yourself up.

_Ha! As if!_

Really, you were surprised that Yamamoto hadn't fallen for it. Your pathetic excuse as to why you didn't want to walk with them was so lame, and you had worried he would see right through your smile.

But he didn't. With a little prodding, and a sprinkling of reassurance, he had agreed.

"Sometimes, he is too gullible," you muttered to yourself, as you yanked your blouse off. It fluttered to the floor, forgotten, and you reached into the closet for a spare shirt. Most of his shirts were plain-colored, but there were a few with patterns. A plaid button-down looked to be your best fit, and so you yanked it off its hanger.

Yes, Yamamoto was gullible.

But he was trust-worthy. Strong. Protective. Gorgeous. Sexy. _Ah?!_

You couldn't hurt him anymore.

You spared a glance at the digital clock on the bureau. Ten minutes before the hour. The bell would ring in five minutes.

Quickly, you did a calculation as you absently combed your hair down into two braids. There were seven hours of the day spent at school. You only shared one hour of class with Yamamoto, thankfully, and that was near the end of the school day.

You had time.

You sloppily braided the rest of your hair, and then you gazed at your reflection in the mirror. You looked ragged and exhausted beyond belief. Purple smudges formed half-moons underneath your (e/c) eyes, giving them a ghoulish effect. Your mouth drooped at the corners. Yamamoto's shirt was a little big on you, and so you had left the buttons undone, displaying the gray tank top underneath—your torso was lean and thin.

Honestly, you looked like you were only half alive.

Quietly, as silent as a whisper, you grabbed your books and proceeded to slip out of Yamamoto's room. You tiptoed down the hall, barely daring to breathe as you moved past Tsuyoshi's closed door, and once you were in the clear, you shot down the stairs and out of the house.

You were going to your mother's grave.

The trip took about fifteen minutes. You walked, avoiding the buses, in case questions were asked. Some people gave you strange looks, probably assuming you were skipping school, but you ignored them as best as you could. You were too tired to deal with them, anyhow.

It had been years since you last visited your mother's grave, but your brain seemed to remember the route of where it was. Lying near the outskirts of town, it was near the main cemetery, slightly off from all the other tombstones there.

You spotted the familiar line of Sakura trees, the majority of them in full bloom. They were breath-taking. The entire cemetery was surrounded by the trees, but for some reason, the ones that hid your mother's grave were more beautiful than the rest.

No one else was there, save for an elderly couple kneeling beside a grave, praying quietly, leaving a bouquet of daises. You didn't bring anything, and you cursed yourself for passing up that flower shop on the way. It would have taken three minutes, five at the most, to pop in and grab a chrysanthemum.

They were her favorite.

The couple didn't notice when you breezed past them. As you headed for that line of trees, you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, as if checking for stalkers. Particularly _him._ But that was ridiculous; he was at school, probably lazing about in the teacher's lounge, drinking.

There it was.

Old and frail, the tombstone was a slab of stone that had been worn by the weather. It was nowhere near as fancy as the other ones. In fact, it looked like it would fall apart with the slightest touch. But it had survived all these years, and you had faith in the brittle thing.

There were jagged cracks all along the edges. Cobwebs were spun in each crevice. It was dusty. Ancient.

There were only a few words inscribed lightly on the face.

_(Mother's Maiden Name)_  
_A Wife Like No Other _

And in front of the grave lay a broken bouquet of chrysanthemums.

You stared at the flowers in surprise. The petals were falling off. The stems had already been snapped. It easily could have been there for a week.

There were only two people in the world who knew where this grave was.

You, and (l/n).

Tears flooded your eyes and for a moment, you thought you would collapse to the ground, a blubbering mess of incoherency. So he _did_ care. He still had a heart somewhere in his body. Even after what the alcohol had done to him, your father still remembered his loving wife—

Something shiny caught your gaze.

You looked behind the grave, curious. There was a smashed bottle of liquor resting there, all shards and slivers of glass. The brand was familiar. The strong stench of dried liquid confirmed your guess.

You blinked your tears away furiously, annoyed with yourself for such a reaction. Of course he would. "That bastard," you muttered.

Scratch what you had just thought. He was still a motherfucking bastard.


	32. The Story

_"…did you know that everything she ever does is for you? So it goes, the story of a broken heart comes true, comes true." _

* * *

He wasn't speaking to you and you had a pretty good idea why.

"Aw, Yama-kun!" you whined, turning your head to look sideways at him. You plastered a huge smile on your face and hoped he would grin once he saw it, just like he always did. "Why are you ignoring me? What did I do?"

He continued his uncharacteristic silence, and he only shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. You even noticed that he sped up his pace a little.

Your smile faltered, then slipped, and disappeared. Your lips settled into a pout. A grumpy, nonresponsive Yamamoto was not good company at all. He wasn't often like this; he wasn't often moody. But damn, he could be moody when he wanted.

Hell, he was _especially_ sexy as he brooded.

You were really missing his talkative cheerfulness.

School had just let out for the day and the two of you were walking home together. There was no baseball practice today; your father had cancelled the practice, for some unknown reason. He'd left school early. In fact, as you had been slipping into school grounds, you'd caught sight of him pulling out of the parking lot in his ugly blue pickup truck. You were sure he didn't see you.

You had made it in time for your last two classes of the day, and you had almost been safely in the classroom when you ran into Ryohei. He stopped to chat with you briefly, and though you didn't want to be rude, you tried to peel yourself away. Class was about to start, and Yamamoto was in your class—he wasn't as oblivious as he acted. He would see your empty seat and put two and two together.

And being the loudmouth that he was, Ryohei practically shouted, "So, (y/n), why weren't you in fitness this morning?!"

Yamamoto just so happened to be walking past you both, hurrying to class, when he heard Ryohei. As expected, he put the pieces together and arrived to the conclusion that you had skipped.

His look displayed that you were in for it, big time.

You attempted to get him to talk. "You haven't said a single word to me this whole time. Yama-kun, I miss your voice!"

He flicked his eyes at you and you put on your cutest pleading face. "Please! I need to hear you say just one damn thing! Come on, you're killing me!"

Yamamoto turned away again. You sighed; this was getting ridiculous. It was up to the point where you wanted to step down from the ledge you currently walked on, throw your arms around him, and kiss him until he groaned. At least ithen/i he would say something.

"All right, fine." His words were so quiet that at first, you didn't even catch them. You whipped your head toward him, smiling widely, when he said, "You lied to me."

You had figured he would bring it up, but there was betrayal behind his voice. And that hurt. "I-I did not! I didn't lie to you, Yama-kun…"

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh, really?"

Suddenly, he was glaring at you and his caramel irises were bright with anger. "Don't give me that shit, (y/n). You said you needed extra time for make up and you lied to me. You skipped all of your morning classes!"

You kept quiet, knowing it was probably best that you didn't mention you missed most of you afternoon classes, too.

"So where did you go? Where did you run off to? Let me guess: you went to see Coach." He snorted. "That's probably why he left, right? Because you went to him and—"

There was a bitterness in his voice that you had never heard before. It twisted your heart, making your stomach roll. You threw a hand out to stop him from talking.

"That's not true!" you cried. "I didn't go to see my father! I didn't! I went to my mot—!" With your hand thrust out like that to the side, your balance was thrown off and you teetered on the ledge for a moment. Then you lost your balance completely and fell backward.

It was only seven feet off the ground, but that was still quite a distance to fall and land on your back. You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the impact.

Yamamoto caught you.

It wasn't a graceful catch, like the ones you saw in the movies. It was rather painful, and you shrieked in surprise, your hands flailing about over your head. Your back stung with the poor catch.

But he had caught you and now he cradled you, bridal-style, against the chest of his Namimori uniform.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, all his previous anger gone. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, no, I'm fine…"

But your tank top had partially ridden up, revealing the flat skin of your belly, and the thin, jagged cut that ran along your side.

Yamamoto, with his sharp eyes, saw it.

He didn't drop you, like you expected him to. He didn't freak out and yell, demanding you explain what had happened.

Instead, he looked you in the eye and muttered, "Did he do this to you?"

It took a pregnant minute before you responded quickly, "Oh! Oh, no, Yama-kun, it's not like that…he didn't touch me. No."

Horror spread into his eyes. "Then…did you…?"

"Gosh, no!" Your jaw hung open with the absurdity of the question. You would never think of cutting yourself. Just the thought of blood made you sick to your stomach.

Yamamoto lightly traced the cut with a calloused fingertip and you almost moaned at the touch. Tingles of heat spread over your skin, burning where he had touched you. "But then how did you get this?"

"I was at my mother's grave," you explained breathlessly, your face uncomfortably warm. "He had left the shards of a bottle behind the tombstone and as I was cleaning them up, I accidently fell. It cut me."

He didn't answer. You worried that he didn't believe you—it was the truth, though—but finally, Yamamoto exhaled deeply. "Klutz," he said. "You're such a klutz, you know that?" He brought his face close to yours, and your foreheads nearly touched.

The few centimeters between your lips and his seemed to suddenly be crackling with energy, with tension. How easy it would be to kiss him!

"Yeah." Since when did these feelings for him develop? You giggled, and you looped your arms around his neck, giving him a squeeze.


	33. Puzzle Piece

_"We put the puzzle together, piece by piece; loving how one curved notch fits so sweetly with another…"_

The bell on the front door jingled musically as the door was opened. Someone stepped into the sushi bar, and Yamamoto glanced over his shoulder for a brief look. He was able to see that it was a man of a big frame, dressed in a wrinkled shirt and dirty dress pants.

"Welcome to Takesushi!" he said brightly. "Have a seat. I'll be with you in just a moment."

The man grunted in response. He shuffled over to a table.

Yamamoto turned back to the Nikuman he was currently making. He wasn't a big fan of the meat-stuffed bun, but you had woken up this morning with an intense craving for Nikuman. "I'll eat bowls and bowls of them," you declared, and then you'd given him a sensually pitiful pout. "But I don't know how to make them…"

"I'll do it, haha."

He didn't like Nikuman, but it had been worth it. In a fit of pure joy, you launched yourself at him and hugged him. "You're an angel, Yama-kun!"

"Some compare me to a demon," he'd joked.

It was a slow Sunday, and Tsuyoshi had gone into town to meet up with an old friend of his, leaving Yamamoto to man the sushi bar. Normally, he wasn't allowed to touch anything, but Tsuyoshi had to make an exception. As Yamamoto took care of the customers, you lay in his room upstairs, cramming for an upcoming test. Or, at least, you were _supposed _to be cramming, but he knew you well enough to know that you were watching reality shows on TV.

Now, Yamamoto finished the Nikuman and he went over to the sink, running his hands under the water for a few seconds. He had made you ten Nikuman, but he wasn't sure if it was enough. Despite your small, delicate body, you ate like a pig.

But most girls in Yamamoto's presence didn't eat anything at all, trying to keep with their image. So by all means, your eating habits were absolutely sexy.

"Would you like today's special?" he started to say, and he wiped his hands quickly before turning to face the man. "We've got some _Chirashizushi_—"

His smile vanished.

(L/n) stared back at him, his eyebrows drawn together tightly over dark eyes.

Every fiber in Yamamoto's body began screaming in alarm. He hadn't expected to see your father here. He rarely came by the bar; the last time Yamamoto could remember was a few years ago, before alcohol had become part of the equation. But now, with him sitting only a few meters away…

His hair stood on edge.

You were just upstairs. It would take less than five seconds for (l/n) to charge up the stairs and find you.

"What are you doing here, Coach?" Yamamoto was going for casual, but it came out strained. He had automatically shifted his position so that he stood on the balls of his feet, his weight equally distributed between both feet, in case he needed to spring. All the bruises hidden under his long-sleeved shirt throbbed at the sight of the man.

For a long moment, (l/n) didn't answer. He merely stared at Yamamoto. Neither boy nor man looked away.

Finally, he muttered, "_Chirashizushi _sounds good."

Yamamoto should have exploded then. (L/n) had sauntered into his bar, and now he was asking for some sushi, as if the previous few weeks never happened. As if he had never threatened you. As if he had never beaten Yamamoto.

Instead, Yamamoto said, "Sure. Give me a sec."

He took a bowl and scooped some rice into it. Then he went to top it off with some garnishes and sashimi, including some freshwater salmon and steamed vegetables in the mix. _Chirashizushi_ was fast and easy to make, luckily, and as Yamamoto fixed the bowl, he watched (l/n) out of the corner of his eye. The man was just sitting at the table, twiddling around with the sleeve of his shirt.

The silence was heavy. Yamamoto could almost hear the crackling of his television from upstairs. Was it just his imagination, or could he really hear you watching an old rerun of _Hana Yori Dango_?

He had exceptionally good hearing, but there was a chance that (l/n) could hear it, too. So, to cover up the sound, Yamamoto cleared his throat, said, "Coach, I thought you didn't like sushi."

"I don't," (L/n) answered curtly.

Yamamoto waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't, and that awkward silence grew even more apparent.

"Uh, okay." He finished with the sushi bowl and whisking it up quickly in one hand, he walked around the counter and over to where (l/n) sat. He resisted the urge to throw the bowl at his weathered face. That wouldn't solve anything. He needed to stay calm, nonchalant, and so he smoothly placed it in front of the man. "Here you go."

(L/n) didn't respond with a "thank you." He said, "Normally, my daughter's the one who made the food in our house. It was either her cooking, or take out. And now that the bitch's upped and ran away…" He shrugged, indifferent.

Upon hearing the curse word, Yamamoto's arm twitched. He forced himself to keep on smiling, clueless. "Wonder where she could have gone," he said.

"Huh." With slow hands, (l/n) lifted a pair of chopsticks to his mouth and he took a small bite of the sushi. He chewed thoughtfully, his forehead scrunched in thought.

"Good, right?" Yamamoto prompted.

He gave a brisk nod. "I guess. It's decent." (L/n) then raised both of his eyebrows and he stared straight at Yamamoto, his eyes opaque and unfeeling. "Is that your father watching Japanese drama upstairs? Or did you just leave the television on?"

Damn it.

Before Yamamoto could say anything, the older man stood up. Immediately, Yamamoto tensed into a half-crouch. If he had to swing, he would, and with pleasure. There was no way in Hell he was letting the bastard near you. No fucking way.

"I'll take this, to go." (L/n) shoved a hand into his pocket and brought it back out, producing a few shiny coins onto the tabletop. He cradled the bowl in the crook of one arm, and lurched toward the door, pushing it open with the other arm. "And I'll be sure to bring back the bowl, maggot."

"No need," Yamamoto rasped, observing his gait. It was clear, steady. The man wasn't drunk and that was why he wasn't making a pass for you. "Keep it."

"Don't wanna."

"Think of it as a gift."

"Takeshi, I don't like charity." And with one last deadly look over his shoulder, his lips twisting into a smile, (l/n) was gone, leaving Yamamoto standing there in a shocked sense of relief.


	34. Don't Want the World

_"…and I don't want the world to see me, because I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's meant to be broken, I just want you to know who I am…" _

* * *

Yamamoto wasn't feeling great that morning, so he decided to stay home. Him missing school was a rare occurrence. He rarely got sick; his immune system was one of the best in all of Namimori High.

But he just wasn't feeling it, so he stayed home while you went on ahead, accompanied by a groggy Tsuna and an ever-scowling Gokudera.

He should have gone with you.

You returned an hour later than usual once school had let out for the day, and though Yamamoto was worried, he had managed not to freak out over your disappearance. You had probably gone shopping or something with a friend. That's what girls normally did after school. It wasn't like your father had gotten his hands on you.

No, but it was much worse.

"Yama-kun!" you sang. Your lips were stretched into an enormous, ear-splitting grin.

"Hey." Yamamoto sat up. He'd been lying on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular. Excluding his panic thoughts, of course. "You're in a good mood. What's up?"

You set your stack of books down onto his desk and then you flopped down next to him with an exultant sigh. "I'm in a great mood!"

You didn't say anything else; you just continued smiling to yourself. Eventually Yamamoto elbowed you playfully. "Well, don't keep quiet, tell me!"

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay!"

Yamamoto should have never asked and he could only stare at you, stunned, when you said, "Masao asked me out, and I said yes!"

The smile on his face seemed to suddenly gain a couple thousand pounds. It started to slip off his lips, and he struggled to keep it on. Masao? He asked you out? And you said yes? You were joking, right? …right?

You mistook his silence. "Oh, do you know who Masao is? He's in my fitness class," you said.

"He's in a couple of classes with me," Yamamoto said.

"Then you know who he is! Gosh, it was so cute of him! He asked me after class, and he was so hesitant about it, but his eyes weren't lying when he said that he's had a crush on me for a long time. I couldn't say no!" You squealed, fixing another joyful grin onto Yamamoto. "Isn't it just great?"

It was anything but great. How could you have said yes? Masao was an average guy. He got regular grades and he was nice of everyone, polite and civilized. There wasn't anything noticeable about him. He was one of those guys that was just ithere./i

There was a tight feeling in his chest. It was hard to breathe. Hard to sit there, next to you.

Yamamoto felt betrayed.

But it had always been like this. He was always there to cheer you on with boyfriends. Every time you'd gotten one, you'd run to announce it to Yamamoto and he had always smiled in encouragement.

And so he cursed himself for being so fucking weak-willed when he said, "Yeah. That's fantastic. Lucky you." There was a long pause, and then he added stiffly, "Congratulations."

You made it even worse by throwing your arms around him and squeezing him, hugging his shoulders like you hadn't just given him a death sentence. "That's why I was late, Yama-kun," you said, and you broke the hug, but you rested your cheek on his shoulder. "Masao took me out for some delicious smoothies, at that cool smoothie bar down the street. He even bought me a strawberry-banana one! It was delicious~"

Yamamoto's face burned with embarrassment, with shame, and with a sick sense of irritation. Who the hell did Masao think he was, anyway? What right did he have to just come waltzing into your life?

Always, Yamamoto had lusted for you. And he'd thought you knew.

He never imagined that he would be capable of hating someone more than he already hated (l/n), but at that moment, he absolutely despised Masao.

And a little voice crooned in the back of his head, _Don't forget the girl, too._


	35. Been a Fool

_"I must've been a fool to love you so hard for so long…"_

Yamamoto wasn't sure how long he could put up with this anymore.

You had been dating Masao for two weeks now, and in the beginning, Yamamoto had figured that it was just a passing crush. That it was one of those things where you needed a boyfriend because everyone else was dating. He'd been optimistic, thinking that you would turn Masao down within the first week.

Of course, he had been wrong, and as the days started slipping by, he realized that you really seemed to like Masao.

You hung out with the boy every day after school. You had study dates, or casual dates, or the boy drove you around in his car to parks, where the two of you hung out until twilight's fingertips stroked the sky.

You would then show up at Yamamoto's house, in his room, your cheeks flushed and your eyes bright. If Yamamoto hadn't known better, he would have thought you'd just had the best sex of your entire life, all based on your expression.

He wanted to be the one to screw you. He wanted to fuck you so hard, to the point where you couldn't even remember your own _name_…

And he wanted to yell at you, to wipe that blissful expression from your face. He hated it.

He was really beginning to despise Masao, that average kid.

And most surprisingly of all, Yamamoto was beginning to hate you.

Each time you climbed into bed with him, humming a love song under your breath, he wanted to jump back out from underneath the covers and leave. He couldn't stand sleeping next to you anymore. It was almost as though you were being unfaithful to Masao. It wasn't like you and Yamamoto made out or anything delicious of the sort, but still. Disgust would creep up his throat, and he would have to work hard to hide it whenever you touched his arm or smiled at him in the dark.

You weren't at home to stop him from going anyway, so Yamamoto decided to get back to baseball practice after school, every day. He attended both the baseball club meetings and the team practices. There was a tournament coming up. His injuries were little more than scabs now, and the skin over his ribs had healed incredibly. It still hurt to full-out sprint, but Yamamoto ignored the spark of pain. In fact, the pain was strangely alluring.

(L/n) gave him ugly looks.

Yamamoto would only grin cheekily in response.

Even all the extra hits (l/n) gave him didn't register. His body had become accustomed to pain all of a sudden.

It felt so fucking great.

It had been two weeks since you started dating Masao and Yamamoto blinked out of his daze as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. One more class to go. He staggered to his feet slowly, swooping his books into one arm in a slow motion, and headed out the door, diving right into the steady stream of students in the crowded hallways.

He couldn't wait for the day to be over. He was so tired. But there was a baseball club meeting, and there was that student council meeting that Suzuki had invited him to.

Suzuki was cute. She had curly black hair, and curves in all the right places. Her dark blue eyes were enticing. Yamamoto couldn't say he hadn't noticed the flirtatious looks she sent in his way.

She was cute…

He shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He wasn't a player. He wouldn't go around toying with girls' emotions just for pleasure.

But he _could_, if he wanted to.

Except that he didn't.

Did he?

"Yamamoto Takeshi-san!"

He turned around.

It was Masao.

And the idiot was smiling, without a care in the world.

Yamamoto gritted his teeth. Normally he would smile. But he couldn't even manage a half-assed smile for the bastard headed his way.

"Hey! Takeshi-san." Masao nodded his head in greeting, holding his thick textbooks close under one arm. All around them, students swerved to avoid crashing into them, but they were just blurs in Yamamoto's vision.

"What do you want?" Yamamoto resisted the urge to spit the words out. "I have to get to class, you know."

"Sorry, I won't keep you long."

Masao really was an average boy. Nothing stood him out from the rest of the males in Namimori. A slight build, more bones than skin, medium height. He had black hair that was cut close to his skull. His eyes were brown. His face was angular. His voice was baritone.

So why did you like him?

Yamamoto tuned back into what the boy was saying: "…and so I was thinking maybe the two of us should see one of your games! I heard you're an amazing baseball player. The first game of that tournament is next week, right?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Do you mind if (y/n) and I come and watch, then?" Masao scratched the back of his head. "She mentioned something about you and baseball."

"Did she, now?"

"Yeah. Anyways, do you care if we come to support you?"

The hallway was thinning. Yamamoto probably had a minute before class started. He didn't know where Masao needed to go, but he had to run practically halfway across the school for his next period.

Yamamoto shrugged. "It's your choice. Do whatever you want." He couldn't just tell him that he didn't want to see either of them at his game. That was just rude.

He wanted to punch the boy, though.

Masao sighed in relief. "I think it'll be a nice place for our date," he said. "We can sit under the bleachers during halftime and—"

Quickly Yamamoto cut him off with an abrupt, "I have to get to class."

"Oh, yeah, of course! I'll see you around, Takeshi-san!"

"That's okay," Yamamoto mumbled under his breath as the boy ran off down the hallway.


	36. Into One

_"Is there anybody out there who is lost and hurt and lonely too? Are they bleeding all your colors into one?"_

It wasn't a physical pain…at least, he didn't think it was.

But it hurt.

Really bad.

A monster's hand gripped his heart. It squeezed with all of its might. His heart was on the verge of bursting.

Yamamoto wasn't one who usually felt pain.

It was excruciating.

He would be brushing his teeth when the pain jabbed through his body. A lightning rod. A fiery hot poker. Shards of ice. He would be working on homework when it hit. He would be drifting off to sleep when it struck.

And so he went to the one man who could help him out at such a time.

He wasn't surprised to find Shamal stumbling and drunk within his office. The older man held a bottle of vodka in one hand, and he sang incoherent words to himself as he walked the perimeter of the room, absently dragging his feet. It was hard to believe that the man in front of Yamamoto was known as the Trident Mosquito.

Yamamoto cleared his throat. "Doctor," he said.

Shamal continued on, showing no signs of even hearing Yamamoto.

"Doctor," Yamamoto said again. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door.

"Whazzit that you whannt?"

"Do you have any medication?"

"What for, boy?"

What for? Good question. Yamamoto knew the obvious answer, the most rational one, but was it really the reason why he was here? "My shoulder," he said, and he grabbed the deltoid muscle, rubbing it gently as though it hurt. "I jammed it pretty good in practice today, and it's acting up…"

"Really?" Shamal drawled. He took a sip of the vodka. The sip stemmed into a long, greedy gulp. "Just for your shoulder?"

"My ribs, too…" He wasn't lying as he added the bones to the list. They hurt, as well. Not as bad as the seemingly gaping cavity in his chest.

There was a moment of silence. The older man studied Yamamoto, his eyes glinting with wise knowledge. They were sharp for a man in such an intoxicated state. Then Shamal shook his head in a quick, jerky motion. "How many times do I have to tell you? I don't treat guys."

He couldn't say he didn't see this coming. "Doctor," Yamamoto started.

The Trident Mosquito had already begun walking further back into his room. "No good, no good," he sang. "If you want me to examine you, then you'd better come back as a girl. Or better yet, bring pretty (y/n) around. She still owes me that breast-grab from before—"

Yamamoto's closed fist whacked the door, stopping Shamal from saying anything else. The man cut off. He slowly turned to face Yamamoto with an unreadable expression.

"Don't." It was hard to miss the desperation in Yamamoto's voice. "Don't bring her name up." With visible force, he brought his fist down to his side, and both men could see the trembling in his arm. "Please."

The silence was longer this time. It stretched out over a good minute or two.

Then Yamamoto curled an arm over his stomach as pain built up within his rib cage. It spiraled upward, lashing his insides like a whip, and it threatened to explode his heart.

_Damn her, she knew how I felt, and at the same time, she didn't see it. She didn't realize…_

_I don't think I can…_

_(Y/n)…_

Shamal had sobered up. He set the half-empty vodka bottle on the edge of his desk. "Takeshi," he said, and the raven-haired male looked up, squinting through the red sea of agony that blurred his vision. "This medicine you are asking for is to cure a broken heart, yes?"

"Not broken," Yamamoto ground out from behind clenched teeth. "Shredded. And, no. It's for my ribs and shoulder."

"Of course." Shamal chuckled. He waved his hand, motioning him to enter. "Come. I've got some painkillers that'll do just the job. But as a doctor, I can't allow you to have more than two at a time…"

"Two's perfect. Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah. Next time you come to visit me, grow yourself a pair of breasts. C cup."

"Whatever you say."


	37. Unlocked

_"…I'm gonna take what I find. So open the box, don't need no key; I'm unlocked. And I won't tell you to stop." _

* * *

A voice. It was nagging you into full consciousness. It swam through your thoughts, leaving filters of light behind in its wake.

"Is there something wrong, (y/n)-chan?"

You blinked. Someone was talking to you. You weren't in the comfort of a dark room—where were you, then?

"You seem out of it, (y/n)-chan." There was a cool hand laid on top of yours. Slender fingers gripped yours, squeezed gently. Reassuringly. "Did you not get enough sleep or what?"

One, two.

Three.

You plastered a huge smile onto your face, raising your eyes to meet the gaze of the boy sitting across from you. "Yeah, it's something like that. Sorry, Masao-san."

He smiled back. Unsuspecting. "No need to apologize."

Apologize? Had you been apologizing?

Your thoughts were scattered all over the place. You ducked your head back down, fastening your lips around the straw end for another swig of ice-cold mango smoothie, and you focused on the chilling sensation icing down your spine, using it as fuel for your thoughts to flee.

It was a hot, sticky Thursday afternoon. School had let out for the day an hour and a half prior. You'd met up with Masao, and the two of you had decided to catch a break at the smoothie shop.

You often came to this exact shop with the Terrible Trio: Tsuna, Gokudera, and Yamamoto. It was an insane feeling of surrealism, you coming here with Masao instead of the other three.

"Huh, you're looking better already," Masao commented, chipping his way into your thoughts once again. "Maybe you were just thirsty?"

You only smiled thinly in response.

What was it about Masao that had drawn you in? Was it his rich, inviting voice? His gentle touch? The plain knowledge glinting deep within his hazelnut irises? That slightly crinkling of his eyes when he smiled?

Or was it the fact that he was ordinary—so average—

He wasn't involved in any of the drama.

"So, tell me." Masao removed his hand, reached forward to brush your cheek. His fingers were startling against your skin, cold from having been wrapped around his smoothie. "Are we still up for seeing Takeshi-san's baseball game tomorrow?"

"Ah? Yama-kun's game…?"

Masao's eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "You say his name rather familiarly, (y/n)-chan."

"Well, we've been friends for the longest time," you said, unsure whether or not the ground you had ventured onto was stable. When you did a quick double take, you found that there was no suspicion in Masao's face at all. You had just imagined it. He was still smiling at you, awaiting your response.

What was wrong with you lately? Everyone seemed to suspect something. The lady walking her dog this morning had given you a pitying look. Your teachers had sent their sorrow with their eyes as they sat at their desks. Now Masao was ugly in his doubt.

You were seeing things that weren't really there, and it was beginning to scare you.

"Yama-kun's game?" you said again. "Yeah. Of course. Let's do it."

"Cool! I can't wait!" he admitted, with a shy shrug of his shoulder.

"Me, neither."

Speaking of Yamamoto…

He wasn't acting like himself. There was something wrong with him. He would no longer return your smiles, and when you chatted about nonsense in his presence, Yamamoto only stayed with you because it seemed like he had to. His heart wasn't in anything other than baseball.

On top of that, you'd caught the little flirtatious looks he was sharing with Suzuki. The note-passing during class. The winks. The subtle curve in Yamamoto's lips.

Suzuki, that slut. How could _she_ get him to smile, when you couldn't? How could she, of all people?

"—and I'm hearing that it's supposed to be really good, for this team's one of the top…hey, (y/n)-chan, are you listening?"

Not again. You'd blanked out. You refocused your eyes and gave yourself a mental slap. "I'm sorry, Masao-san, what were you saying?"

The faintest look of despair, mixed with a little irritation, crossed Masao's features. "You're so hopeless," he sighed good-naturedly. "Where does your mind keep wandering off to?"

It was a question you couldn't answer, one that you _wouldn't_ answer, and so you giggled.

"C'mere." Masao leaned across the both. He brushed his lips over your cheekbone.

You had to stop the shudder rippling up your spine. It wasn't a shudder of delight, of lust—no, it was a shudder of repulsion.

His kiss had held the key to everything only a couple of days ago. You had found yourself craving it at night, as you lay tucked underneath Yamamoto's arm…

That wasn't all, you realized. Yamamoto's touch was light. Fleeting.

It was like he didn't want any contact with you whatsoever.

Masao was watching your expression, his brows knitted together in thought. Your face must've been showing him more than it needed to, and you shot to your feet, turning away from him. _ No! If he keeps looking, he'll see…_

See what?

What exactly were you keeping from him?

_What's Yamamoto keeping from __me?_

Something burned at the pit of your belly. A monster. A monster of bewilderment, of fury, of pain. It threatened to overwhelm you. It clawed at your throat with razor-sharp talons, tearing the skin, scraping you apart.

"I-I'm feeling ill," you stammered, backing away from the booth. You needed to escape. The ladies' room was as good a place as any.

You had precious seconds before the monster would come pouring out, unbidden. "S-sorry. Stomachache. Ex-excuse me!"

You turned tail and ran to the bathroom, leaving poor Masao behind.


	38. Satisfy Me

_"Just a little more, come on and satisfy me…" _

You stepped into Yamamoto's room. Dropped your book bag to the floor, your pile of textbooks landing hard next to it. The impact was rough, and they toppled with a deafening crash, but you didn't hear it. In fact, you couldn't hear anything. There was a roar howling in your ears, one that blocked out all other sounds.

It wasn't just your hearing.

You couldn't see. You couldn't smell. You couldn't taste. You couldn't touch.

You couldn't _feel._

Your entire body was numb.

The blood drumming through your veins had been replaced with something you couldn't name: white-hot, burning, pulsing. Fierce enough to make you shiver. Cold enough to make you crave more.

Whatever it was, you liked it.

And you were responding without thinking to its volition.

Your hands scrabbled to your Namimori blouse. You started working the top buttons, but after a second of you unable to undo them, you just cursed and ripped the thing up and over your head. It crumpled to the floor. Fluttered to a landing near the bed.

"What am I doing?" you murmured. You had come to a stop in front of the mirror, and you stared at it while you shimmied out of your skirt. "What is _wrong _with me?"

The baseball game was in three hours. Masao had invited you, and you'd agreed to go. The opponent was rumored to be tough. It was going to be a good game. Any normal girlfriend in the world would've been excited—after all, it was a date.

Yamamoto had been openly flirting with Suzuki. And it wasn't just regular flirting. Girls like Suzuki didn't keep it to low-keep flirting, no; it advanced to seemingly-casual touches on the arm, a whisper against his jaw, a brush of her nose to his shoulder, a sliding of her finger down his well-toned chest…

_"Fuck!" _ A strange gasp, ripped from your chest. Inhuman.

And then you were naked, striding into the adjacent bathroom with a purpose you could not fathom. Your body sang its approval as you twisted the faucet on, and the water spurted forth from the showerhead. The roar in your ears lessened for a moment, then came back stronger than before.

You clamped your hands over your ears. "Stop it," you hissed. "Stop!" When it continued, you rocked back and forth. "I can't take it! Shut up!"

_What is _wrong _with me?_

Thousands of little sounds mixed with the constant roaring. The water endlessly struck the smooth marble floor. You could see steam tendrils beginning to rise, but you didn't bother reaching in to adjust the temperature.

It wasn't touching anymore, no; Suzuki kissed him in the hallways, afterschool, when she had thought everyone else was gone.

Not once did Yamamoto pull away.

They only paused sucking face long enough for air, and he had been smiling that damn smile of his when they did break contact.

You had seen it all.

You weren't supposed to, of course, but you had. Oh, you had.

At first, the water was blisteringly hot against the skin of your back. You grew accustomed to it almost immediately. With a sigh, you gathered all of your hair into one hand and tossed your head back, drenching your face.

What you wouldn't give to take it all back.

Everything—from the boyfriend to the bruises, the bottle and the birth.

You wished it had never happened.

Your body had long since shut down. You were spiraling downward into vertigo. Or was it upward? Not sure.

The water felt so _good,_ so pleasant…

"Mmm…"

Eyes closed, you pulled your hand over your face. Down your neck. Over your breasts.

Your hand lingered for a moment. What would it feel like to touch them? Only this once, you told yourself, only this once would you allow it. And so you did.

"A-ah…"

You tweaked with them for a few seconds before forcing yourself to stop, to pull away.

Your hand continued to descend.

Over the flat of your stomach, your hips. Your waist.

Here, it stopped again.

Your breath was coming out in short, sharp bursts. It was hard to get enough oxygen into your lungs now. Steam from the marble underneath you enveloped the entire bathroom, to the point where you couldn't really make out anything more than the sink's distinct outline.

He had betrayed you. He'd kissed that slut.

But you had done the same thing to him, with Masao.

—what did it matter, anyway? It wasn't like Yamamoto owned you. He had no fucking say in your love life. He wasn't your father, your brother. He was just Yamamoto. He didn't even love you.

_Is that right?_

Your hand hovered above your womanhood.

This wasn't right. This was absolutely crazy. You must've been losing your mind to even consider such a thing—

You slipped one finger inside of your warmth, and plunged.

The sensation was foreign. And painful. You had never experience anything like it, and somehow it felt raw. A wordless cry tore itself from your throat.

The initial spark of pain slowly dissolved, tingling down your spine and bones, trickling into every nook and cranny of your body. You had your eyes squeezed shut, and you stood with your forehead pressed to the cool glass. Stray water drops clung to the surface.

Behind you, the showerhead continued pouring out water, and it thrummed against your back. Heat seeped into your body, manifesting into pure warmth.

You were falling…

And it was ecstasy.

Your finger began to move. You rubbed it against your sex, loving the way your body reacted. As you pushed your digit in even further, your stomach tightened, and an invisible coil contracted ever so slowly.

Mewls escaped your mouth, soft and breathy. "Nnngh…mmm, _yes_…"

You inserted another finger, and the pleasure doubled.

"…a-ah! Ah…!"

It was a good thing no one was at home yet. Tsuyoshi was out delivering take-out, and Yamamoto…who knew where he was. Baseball practice, maybe. Or he was more likely at the student council meeting, with Suzuki hanging on one arm…

That coil wound even tighter as your fingers picked up speed. All of your thoughts disappeared as your body took over control, and you rolled your hips against in your hand in time to the rhythm you had set for yourself.

You were panting heavily, and you were loving it.

"Y-Yama-kun…"

Your eyes snapped open. _What? What the hell was that?_

Why his name, out of all the possible…

"Yama-kun," you said again, and a long moan left you. Your head was spinning. Your legs were shaking. Your hips moved even faster. The fingers, even deeper.

You were so close…

**No.**

So fucking close…

**NO.**

_"Takeshi!"_ you sobbed._ "Oh, God~ Shit, T-Takeshi!"_

His name wasn't just a shout of pleasure.

You felt no pleasure as you came all over your own hand, and even then, you didn't have time to think about it. To think about what you had just done.

Tears streamed from your eyes, mingled with the water already on your face. You sank onto your haunches and tried to stop yourself from weeping, but it wasn't working, and your fingers were still thrusting into your heat, and your hips were shy from bucking again—

You were a mess.

A complete mess.

The day you said yes to Masao, you shattered.

And now you had no clue how to pick all of your pieces back up.


	39. Cannot Hear You

_"All this noise, I'm waking up, and all the space, I'm taking up. I said I cannot hear you, you're breaking up …"_

* * *

"We're behind Fuyutora right now, maggots! It's 4-1, their favor!" (L/n) punched his fist into his palm as he stalked around the dugout, swinging his head around to glare at each and every one of the baseball players. "What's going on? You're playing like a bunch of spineless cowards!"

There were halfhearted murmurs in response, but no murmurs formed into actual words. Just sounds.

The man exhaled loudly. "You keep playing like this and we're bound to lose! Think you'll be able to face Namimori tomorrow with the loss on your shoulders?"

The fifth inning had just ended in the much-anticipated baseball game between Namimori and Fuyutora. They were playing home, so the bleachers were packed with Namimori students dressed in their school uniforms to support the team. Despite the fact that they were losing, the cheers were enthusiastic, and homemade signs were waved earnestly in the air by fangirls.

Yamamoto threw his head back and poured half of the water bottle down his throat. He swallowed it all in one go, and some splashed out the corners of his mouth. He hastily wiped it clean with the back of his glove.

It was partially his fault that Namimori was behind. To be honest, it was completely his fault. The performance he was giving was half-assed and weak, and he knew it.

It wasn't that he _wanted _to play like an amateur. Of course not. Yamamoto loved baseball more than anything, and it was completely humiliating to play the way he was currently playing.

So then why was he dragging his feet?

You and Masao were on a date.

"—and don't even get me _started _on the fucked-up swings you all are taking! You have to put some muscle into your swings! You can't just touch the bat to the ball and expect it to go flying."

More murmurs. They were closer to words than before, but still unidentifiable. Or was it because Yamamoto wasn't listening to what was being said? He clenched his fingers around the water bottle; it slowly crushed inward on itself.

He hadn't spotted you yet in the bleachers, but truth be told, he wasn't really looking. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle spotting you next to Masao. The two of you were probably acting all lovey-dovey right now. Yamamoto sure as hell didn't want to see you lip-locked with The Average.

For a cautious measure, Yamamoto had gone to Tsuna. He'd begged the brunette to accompany you at the game. He had tried to make it seem casual, a friend simply asking another to check it out. But Tsuna seemed to catch something under Yamamoto's grin.

He had agreed, and Gokudera invited himself. When Reborn heard about it, he informed Kyoko and Haru, and the four had shown up. Yamamoto already exchanged greetings with them.

"You listening to me, Takeshi?"

He tipped his head up at the sound of his name to find that (l/n)'s gunmetal (e/c) eyes were trained on him. They were hard. Flat. Completely empty.

It took a moment for Yamamoto to find his voice. "U-uh. Yeah."

The older man didn't buy it. "Takeshi, you especially need to pick up your game. Quit spacing out. So far, you haven't made any good plays. The ones you've made are shit."

"My bad, Coach." Yamamoto smiled.

(L/n) didn't say anything at first. Then he grunted noncommittally.

The cheers amplified in volume, signaling that the Fuyutora player was stepping up to bat. The sixth inning was about to start.

With a sigh, (l/n) turned his back to Yamamoto and faced the others. "Grab your gloves and take your positions on the field," he ordered. "I want you guys playing defensive like your lives depend on it. You'd better not let them hit any runs!"

"What're our positions?" someone yelled.

He looked down at his clipboard and rattled them off. Yamamoto listened with one ear. Lately, (l/n) had been leaving him alone. They only spoke during practices. Usually a minimum of five sentences were spoken back and forth. Either (l/n) was losing interest or he simply didn't care anymore; Yamamoto was fine with both.

"—Takeshi, left field—"

Huh. It had been a while since he'd last played left field. He was normally shortstop or pitcher. Left fielders hardly did anything. It was almost an insult to Yamamoto's baseball skills.

iWell, they aren't exactly up to par right now,/i he told himself as he got to his feet, grabbing his cap as he did so. All around him, Namimori players slapped high fives with each other and then jogged out onto the diamond. Seeing them, the crowd went wild.

"Rip them to pieces!"

"Take us home!"

"Come on, Nami!"

Yamamoto stood for a moment, smiling vaguely as he listened to the shouted encouragement. Even though they were losing badly, the spectators hadn't lost hope. It was endearing.

He switched out his batter's glove for the worn, brown-leather field glove. He took a deep breath. _Focus._ He needed to improve his game.

_Forget the world around you. Don't think. Feel._

Yeah. He could feel his resolve stirring up inside of him again. No more shitty performances on the diamond. It was his turf, and he was going to play for real. Fuyutora didn't stand a chance.

With an edgier smile, Yamamoto started jogging out of the diamond.

He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

(L/n).

"Don't worry, Coach," he said. "I've got my game back."

"I'm sure," the man drawled. His eyes glinted. His voice was cold, and it left Yamamoto feeling empty when he added, "Having fun screwing my daughter, you little mongrel?"

Yamamoto tensed.

"She's good, huh?" He had never heard a darker chuckle than the one that came from (l/n)'s mouth right then. "Figured. It's only natural. Her mother was pretty amazing."

Without even thinking, Yamamoto shoved the hand away from his shoulder. He gave (l/n) his deadliest look.

"I'm not screwing your daughter. That's not my job, Coach."

Then he ran onto the field, not even bothering to listen to the spiteful response.


	40. Now and Then

_"…we were so young. I think of her now and then. I still hear the songs reminding me of a friend." _

* * *

Someone had once said, "Some things haunt our sleep, and the longer we keep them in, the larger they get. The more terrifying they get."

You hadn't understood what it meant at the time.

Now you truly understood.

Upon experiencing the agonizing sensation of something—lust? Desire? Sinful passion?—clawing at your throat, tearing your internal organs, dancing its way over your guts and waist, you thought you would be able to ignore the feelings. You believed you could smother the feelings. Suppress them. They were but a figment of your overactive imagination.

Not anymore.

They were part of you, and you couldn't just cast them aside. They'd hooked themselves into your conscience, refusing to let go.

You were being driven crazy.

The Yamamoto house was your refuge, a place where you could hide out without having to worry about dealing with your father. Ever since (l/n)'s alcoholic problems arose, you had doubled back to Yamamoto's place. Neither of the household men opposed your presence.

Of course, Yamamoto's room had become your room. You practically lived in it. You did everything in the room. Changing, putting on makeup, homework, reading, eating snacks…

The list included sleeping—often times, you shared a bed with Yamamoto. His arms had become a haven. Warm, strong, and most importantly, isafe/i.

Sleeping next to Yamamoto was pure torture.

You returned from the baseball date with Masao sometime before midnight. All the lights were off, and the house was entirely dark with shadow. No one had stayed up for you tonight, it seemed.

You slunk up to the front door and tried to knob. Locked. You just so happened to have a spare key, and you inserted it into the hole, then jiggled it around until you heard a tiny _click! _ The door creaked open slowly.

You slipped into the house, taking great care to be silent as a whisper when you locked the door behind you. The house was fairly new, but the wooden floorboards squeaked like a bitch when it really counted. You had to creep up the stairs in a half-crouch, clutching the banister for balance; your vision was terrible at night.

You made upstairs without waking up anyone, and so you stalked down the corridor and opened the door to Yamamoto's room.

And you stood in the doorway for a moment.

Yamamoto was sprawled out on the bed, wearing only a pair of white boxers and grass-stained socks. His hair was mussed up and it stuck up in wild spikes. Light snores tumbled from his lips like a whistle. He was lying on one side, facing toward you. Almost as though he'd been waiting in bed for you. The thought alone was enough to make you melt.

The window was open, and slivers of moonlight shone through, falling in a silvery patch around Yamamoto. He looked angelic and vulnerably boyish as he slept, his face smooth and untroubled.

There was no denying that he was your poison.

You released a breath you hadn't known you were holding. On one hand, you were disappointed to see that he hadn't stayed up to see you in. On the other hand, though, you were relieved that you wouldn't have to deal with questioning.

Shutting the door closed behind you, you headed over to the bathroom. There was no time to take a shower—no time to wash off the lingering scent of Masao, something close to lemongrass. It clung to your Namimori blouse, and as you had come home, you'd driven shotgun with the windows rolled down all the way. Even the stark wind hadn't been enough to take the lemongrass off.

You stripped your clothes off, replacing them with a flimsy, sleeveless nightgown top and matching silk panties. You were exhausted, and you didn't bother putting on a bra. Fatigue tweaked the edges of your consciousness; your eyesight blurred as you rinsed your mouth and washed your face free of mascara.

When you had toweled off, you hit the switch and stepped out of the bathroom. The running water hadn't woken up Yamamoto. He slept on.

You climbed into bed slowly, and the bed underneath you cooperated well, groaning only once under the additional weight.

For the longest time, you stared at the bare plane of Yamamoto's muscled back. Lithe and firm, his back was all angles and perfection. There wasn't a single ounce of excess fat. Both baseball and swinging swords had chiseled it, and the rest of his body alike.

God, now that you were so close to him…

The blood in your veins was swapped with an intense, scorching buzz of golden lust. No, not lust. It was hunger. It was thirst. You yearned for the swordsman to press his lips to yours; for his hands to grip your hips; for him to stroke your skin…

The want wasn't nearly as overpowering as it had been before, in the shower, but it was close and so much more tangible, now that he was literally three feet away from you.

Without anything to distract you, you could think clearly, and you realized that it couldn't continue like this anymore. You weren't sure you would be able to survive another day of this tiring charade. Your affections for Masao couldn't even compare to the level of Yamamoto's. The raven-haired male before you had been with you through the thick and thin. Masao was just a classmate.

But after all the things you'd done to Yamamoto, there was no way he would just accept you if you turned around and said, "I broke up with Masao-san. It was a mistake, Yama-kun, please…I've always loved you, and won't you take me now?"

Ha. What a joke.

Yamamoto may smile most of the time, but he wouldn't be smiling then.

For now, though…

You closed the distance separating you and Yamamoto, maneuvering your arms underneath his so that they were wrapped around his torso. With an inaudible sigh, you pressed your lips to the space between his shoulder blades, splaying your hands on his abdomen, your palms resting on his well-defined abs. He smelled so good—freshly cut grass, wet earth, water, and clean soap mixed in together for a scent that was very masculine, very Yamamoto Takeshi. You couldn't resist inhaling deeply as you buried your face into his back, holding him even tighter.

He flinched, and you paused, thinking he had woken up. He would surely push you aside, give you some shitty reason as to why you shouldn't be touching him…

He stirred, but then he relaxed again, slumber effectively taking its hold on him.

For the time being, this contact was the closest you could get to Yamamoto. It was the only thing you could do. His skin on yours was arousing. You closed your eyes, moving even closer to him, your breasts up against his back, so that you spooned his larger frame. You were short of breath, and your head was spinning; with exhaustion or with passion, you weren't sure.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, lips moving against his skin. "I'm so, so sorry…"

Sorry wasn't good enough, of course, and long after you were claimed by the feathery ribbons of sleep, your anguish and desire mingled together into a terrifying creature. It haunted your dreams as it looked to take your soul.


	41. Pretend We Are

_"Tell me, baby, if it's wrong, to let my hands do what they want. Late at night, I pretend we are…dancing in the dark…" _

* * *

You woke up dazedly, sunlight filtering through the closed blinds and directly on your eyelids. With a half-protest-moan thing, you flung one hand up and buried your face into the pillow.

It took you a while to leave the dreamy world of slumber. It was so enticing, so irresistible, and you didn't want to let it fade away…

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, blinking owlishly, looking around with bleary eyesight as you regained all your senses.

The space next to you was empty.

Well, no wonder the bed was so cold. You shrank back against the mattress, drawing the blanket around you even closer. Wait, where had the blanket come from? You hadn't slept with a blanket. Yamamoto's back had radiated enough heat to keep your warm, and his body had been like a heater, up against yours…

Oh, god. Yamamoto.

And then you were wide awake, staring at the off-white ceiling, seeing it but not really _seeing_ it. You slowly raised one hand in the air, then the other, shaping them so that you were holding Yamamoto's abdomen again. You remembered the exact shape, the way you fit snugly, and was it pathetic that you missed him so badly it hurt or what?

"You're a mess, (y/n)," you told yourself. Your tongue darted out to lick the corners of your dry lips, and his taste lingered on your mouth. Something stirred in your lower regions as you caught your lower lip between your teeth, gnawing gently.

If you hadn't noticed that your thoughts were beginning to recede into oblivion, you would have laid there for the longest time, biting your lips. Instead, you kicked your legs in the blanket, rolling over onto your stomach as you positioned yourself in Yamamoto's spot.

You squished your cheek to the mattress, shut your eyes, and focused on breathing.

Sometime later, you dragged yourself out of the house after exchanging some morning pleasantries with Tsuyoshi, who was already eager and bursting with energy as he chopped some fatty tuna for the deliveries. "'Morning, (y/n)!" he said cheerfully when he saw you. "You look like you've been brought back from the dead."

"Thanks, Yoshi-san. I can always count on you to tell me the truth about my appearance." You grabbed a half-eaten muffin from the counter, tearing off a large-sized chunk before popping into your mouth as you moved toward the door.

"Don't you want breakfast?"

You waved it off. "It's fine. I'm going to eat out this morning."

Tsuyoshi shrugged. "Whatever works for you, then. Oi, Takeshi did the exact same thing earlier, too; he just snatched his bat, yelled something about eating with the rest of the baseball players, and then he was gone." Your stomach clenched at the mention of Yamamoto's name.

"Huh," you murmured, wondering. Had the raven-haired male woken up to find your arms still around him? And if so, had he been angry?

"Anyways, I expect to see you back here soon, (y/n), right?" Tsuyoshi narrowed his eyes at you, as if daring you to oppose him.

"You got it. See you," you answered.

"Later."

There wasn't any school today, the reason being that it was some sort of Namimori holiday. You were glad you didn't have to face both Yamamoto and Masao at school. It wasn't painstakingly obvious, but you knew the boys didn't like each other.

You didn't know where you were going, but the sunlight was warm on your skin. Returning to the house wouldn't do you any good. Well, it was time to catch breakfast, like you had promised Tsuyoshi. Eating by your lonesome wouldn't work, though, and so you pulled out your cell phone. It took you all of thirty seconds to pad a text in and send it.

The breakfast diner came into view some distance down the street. Tsuna and Gokudera had taken seats in a booth near the window. The former was glancing down at a crisp menu while the latter grumbled about something or other, dragging his fingers through his silver hair.

"Hey," you called out as you approached the duo. "Thanks for coming so readily."

"It's no problem at all," Tsuna responded with a hesitant smile.

"Yes, it is," Gokudera cut in. He pointed an accusing finger in your direction. "Why do we have to eat with her, of all people, Tenth? If you needed breakfast, we could have eaten it at your place! I don't see why we need to be here!"

"Gokudera-kun," Tsuna reprimanded him softly. "There's nothing wrong in eating with a friend, right, (y/n)?"

"Exactly." You slid in across from them, plucking the menu from the boy's fingers. "And don't worry, I'll pay for it. So order anything. My treat."

He threw his hands up behind his head happily. "Ahh, this is great. A breakfast without the kids around to steal from me! Not to mention Bianchi's poison cooking and Reborn's creepiness…" A cautious look passed his face, and Tsuna sank low in his seat, checking over his shoulder for any signs of Reborn.

Gokudera huffed indignantly. "Fine. Whatever. I'll only stay because the Tenth needs me," he declared.

You winked suggestively. "Don't worry, hon, I'm not planning to jump you."

"E-eeeeeeeh?!" Their reaction was simultaneous, and you burst out laughing.

The three of you immersed yourselves into an animated conversation about everything and nothing as you ordered your breakfasts and then set about to eating them. The chaos swirling underneath your breast disappeared as you exchanged words with the boys, and you found yourself happy and light. It was almost like the good old days.

After an hour or so of chatting, you noticed that it was probably time to go. You had to get back and do your homework, and it was no use spending up Gokudera's and Tsuna's time any longer. "Thank you so much for meeting me here," you said again, as you dug into your pocket for money. "I really appreciate it."

"It was fun," Tsuna said. He smiled. "You know, (y/n), you look a lot more like yourself right now."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, your cheeks are all flushed with laughter and your eyes are really bright," he explained.

His chocolate eyes were unexpectedly warm. "R-really?" You couldn't help but blush a little.

"Tch." Gokudera folded his arms across his chest, his eyes closed. He cracked one open and stared at you with a half-lidded, calculating silver iris. "Before you leave, woman, there's something I need to ask…"

His tone was enough to make you halt in your actions of finding money. "Gokudera-kun, what?"

"That fucking baseball freak," he started.

"The other night, a while back. You and that freak came and dragged me off to Shamal's. And Yamamoto had all of those…" Gokudera's eye flicked to Tsuna, and he paused, before saying, "…_bruises _on his back." He leaned forward slightly. "What's up with that, (y/n)?"

You paled. That night seemed to have happened centuries ago. It had been after your father took the wooden back to Yamamoto's body, battering and smashing the skin until it was practically shredded. Of course, Yamamoto was fine now…physically, that was. You'd seen his body last night.

_But…_

Tsuna took another sip of his drink. "Speaking of Yamamoto," he said, after swallowing. "He hasn't been acting like himself lately. I don't know what it is, but he's just acting weird."

"T-that's not right—"

The young Vongola's expression was wise beyond its years. "Maybe it has something to do with what Gokudera-kun is saying. You know him better than we do, (y/n). Tell us. Is Yamamoto okay?"

Was Yamamoto okay? How would you know? He was no longer speaking to you. The most you could get out him were halfhearted grunts and listless chuckles. His heart wasn't into anything whenever he was your company. You just didn't…

"U-um. Well. Yama-kun…" You were mortified to hear your voice shaking, and your eyes were clouding over with tears. You didn't cry, though. "He…he's just worried about baseball, is all. It's nothing serious. Don't worry."

"Baseball?" Tsuna seemed incredulous.

You nodded.

"Then those bruises that Gokudera-kun said…"

"Got them from training."

Tsuna bit his lip, and he looked off to the side. Next to him, you could see Gokudera wasn't buying any of it.

The fuzzy feeling that had built up in your stomach disappeared, and a cold sense of dread settled in your gut. These boys had noticed your behavior, and Yamamoto's, and they were concerned. The world around you was already shattering; it was beginning to fall away.

"I'll ca-catch you guys a-around," you stuttered, all but throwing the money onto the table.

"(Y/n)," Tsuna murmured.

Gokudera's scowl deepened.

You tried for a smile, but you couldn't get your lips to curve. After a moment, you turned around and fled.


	42. Too Much

_"…it's wonderful to fall. It's worth risking it all. I'd rather love just a little too much…"_

* * *

"Thanks for helping me out, Yamamoto-kun."

The mentioned raven-haired male glanced over his shoulder to see Suzuki smiling brilliantly at him, her lips red and full. "Sure thing," he said, returning her smile with one of his one. "I'm glad to help."

"But I feel terrible, making you do this when you're not even a member of the student council…"

"Really, I'm glad to help," he repeated as he stooped down for another stray wrapper. As part of her commitment to student council, Suzuki was required to pick up the litter on Namimori's school yard. She had chosen today as the perfect day to do so, and for some company, she had asked for Yamamoto's help. It wasn't that he had nothing better to do; he just didn't want to return home early. There was an ever-present risk of running into you.

Yamamoto knew Hibari was up on the school roof somewhere, keeping an eye on the two of them to make sure they didn't wreck havoc on the school grounds. He had the urge to wave, but he knew the head prefect wouldn't return it.

"There's so much shit here," Suzuki grumbled. She shoved more plastic into the large trash bag behind her, struggling to keep it from overflowing. "Seriously, why couldn't the other council members do this? Here I am, working my butt off, while they enjoy their day off at home!"

She had been complaining for the last few minutes, and Yamamoto had to admit, it was getting on his nerves. Her complaints were nothing like yours—her whiny, squeaky voice gave him a headache. "Hey, I think it's good that you're here, on a Namimori holiday," he said. "I really admire that."

Her blue eyes zeroed in on him, clear and wide. "Ah, really? Yamamoto-kun, you're too kind!"

"Hahaha, think so?"

She giggled her assent and then launched into blabbering about some gossip she'd heard from a hot tabloid, and Yamamoto turned back to the litter to avoid much conversation. The female before him was bubbly and entertaining, but her chatter could be a little too much.

Besides, Yamamoto had other important matters to worry about than the latest affair between so-and-so.

He'd been surprised, to say in the least, when he woke up and found you sleeping next to him, your arms wrapped around him. The contact wasn't limited to just your arms—your chest had been pressed against his bare back, one silky leg twined between his, and your mouth had been positioned near the middle of his shoulder blades.

Well, no wonder he'd woken up hot and bothered.

It was as if your relationship with Masao was a lie. It was as if the uneasiness between Yamamoto and you was gone.

All of it was so painstakingly clear: Yamamoto wanted you.

**_And yet, he couldn't have you._**

So. Damn. Maddening.

Sometimes, Yamamoto wished your father wasn't an alcoholic. Sometimes, he wished he wasn't the type of guy to slow down, the type of guy who liked to know his girl first and foremost. He wished he could just storm back into his room, throw you onto the bed, and screw you until he couldn't remember his own fucking _name._

The devious part of his brain told him to do it.

Of course, he wouldn't.

Without even realizing it, Yamamoto let out a frustrated growl. His hands tightened around the trash he held.

Suzuki heard it. "Something wrong?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. The notion was intentional, and he caught the way her lustrous black curls swung forward.

"No, it's nothing," he said, stepping away. She was nothing like you, and Yamamoto suddenly didn't know what he was doing here. Everything about Suzuki was deliberate and pronounced. Everything she did screamed _fake._

What the fuck was he doing here? He didn't need to help her. If he stayed a minute longer, he would go insane.

Yamamoto needed time to think. He needed to be alone. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and they required shuffling.

Time for an escape. "Hey, Suzuki, I just remembered I need to go," he lied, smiling like it was the truth. "Baseball stuff." He felt bad about leaving now, but there wasn't much more litter to be picked up.

She looked disappointed, but she nodded and straightened up. "Oh, okay. Thanks for your help, Yamamoto-kun! I don't know what I would've done without you." The girl walked close to him, sashaying her hips as she did. It was a lost effort on Yamamoto; what would've been seductive to guys his age, was repulsive to him.

"Anytime."

"Allow me to return the favor?"

Before Yamamoto could do anything, Suzuki pressed her lips to his.

His body went rigid.

_What is she doing—?_

It wasn't a chaste, farewell-sort of kiss. It was the kind that led to steamy make-out sessions. Her lips were moist and heavy on his, and he could taste the peppermint on her breath, serving to sour the kiss when it should've sweetened it.

He tried to move back, but then Suzuki's hands were on his shoulders, encasing him, keeping him in place as they looped around his neck. "Mmm," she sighed, and her tongue prodded his as she ran her fingers through his hair slowly.

Yamamoto had a few options here, ranging from simply closing his mouth and not responding to her advances, to forcibly shoving her aside. Of course, he wouldn't do that, and so Yamamoto decided that the former was the better of the two. He snapped his mouth shut and just waited. She was bound to come up for air soon, anyway.

Her fingers, with the frosting-painted long nails, were like snakes. They poked and kneaded his scalp here and there, and it was uncomfortable. Suzuki had her body flush up against his, and the swell of her large breasts were making Yamamoto a little horny. He _was_ a guy, after all, and her bosom was nothing like yours.

And then she made the mistake of breathing, _"Yama-kun…"_

Yamamoto grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her backward, just hard enough to break the vice grip she had on his lips.

The poor girl was baffled. "Wh-w-what?"

There were so many things he could say, but Yamamoto just released her frail shoulders and took a step back. "Sorry. You can't call me that."

"What?"

This was absurd. "I have to go," he said instead, looking everywhere but her face. The disappointment was clear in her voice; he didn't want to have to see her expression. His eyes landed on a figure clad in black on the school's rooftop: Hibari, casually propped up against the wire fencing, observing disinterestedly.

"Was it the kiss?" Flustered, Suzuki pushed a hand through her curls. For once, the movement wasn't deliberate. "I apologize, really, I do. I didn't think it would bother you so much." Her hair framed her face, shadowing the pain. "But when I kissed you a few days ago, you didn't do anything then, Yama-kun—"

_Damn you, (y/n). Damn you to Hell. _

_It's because of you that I have to do all of this._

His voice was hoarse when he snapped, "Stop talking."

Suzuki flinched, her lips pressed together tightly.

And now Yamamoto felt bad. He wanted to apologize, but he couldn't. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't.

There was nothing he could say.

So Yamamoto stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and hung his head. "Forgive me," he whispered; he didn't dare look up, because he knew Suzuki's blue eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "Suzuki, forgive me."

He got no answer from her.


	43. Reckless

_"I wanna put my hands on her hands, feel the heat from her skin, get reckless in the starlight. I'm moving to the beat of her heart…"_

* * *

The strangest thing was, as Yamamoto was walking home with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his baseball jacket, he felt good. Great, even. He didn't feel so bogged down anymore.

Breaking off with Suzuki had been the right way to go. The girl had only clung to him, mewling for attention, trying to jump his bones at every given chance. It had gotten rather old quickly, although Yamamoto couldn't say that he hadn't enjoyed it at first.

"Man," he said, and his sigh ended up as laughter. "I don't know how guys can do this. I'm not cut out for the player-type."

The weather was gradually changing from a sunny, warm autumn to the few weeks before winter. He felt the snap of cold on the wind as it nipped his face. He tasted the scents of autumn fading: crisp, fallen leaves and browning grass. Gone was the lingering of apple cider, of the slanting sun. With the promise of snow came the closure of the fall baseball season, and he would have to wait out a couple of months before he took out the uniform again, in spring.

He pulled a hand out of the jacket's pocket and scratched the back of his neck, and he ignored the sensation of Suzuki's touch still ghosting there. She was gorgeous, he'd give her that, but Yamamoto didn't have eyes for her. Nope. He wasn't interested in the perky-breasted female with the luscious curls, or any other girl, for that matter.

His heart already belonged to you, of course, and you had gone and shredded it. Tossed it right back in his face with a pretty smile that indicated you had no clue what you'd just done.

And being the person that he was, Yamamoto had taken it all into stride.

Damn, it was moments like those that he really hated himself. His hand, laid flat against the muscle of his neck, curled into a loose fist. Whoever said happy-go-lucky was the best way to go was completely wrong. He would trade his nature for Gokudera's suspicious one or Hibari's cold, fuck-off personality in a heartbeat. Though he wouldn't be as dynamic as either of the two.

While he was on the subject…

Hibari had witnessed the whole ordeal between Suzuki and him, and Yamamoto wondered if the head prefect would have half a mind to go and tell you about it. It wasn't that Hibari was friendly to you; in fact, he only got more aggravated each time you entered the picture. It had something to do with a transgression on your part from a few years ago. But kissing on school grounds was against some unwritten rule, and Yamamoto knew he would get hell for it, even if he hadn't been the one to initiate the macking.

The last thing Yamamoto needed was for his fellow Guardians to get wrapped up in the pandemonium. Tsuna already had enough to worry about, with being Vongola Decimo, and there was no need for the others to know.

"So, basically," he concluded, with a humorless smile, "I'm in this by myself."

Oh yes, he was. It was the final inning; the bases were loaded and he was up to bat with three fouls and two strikes on him.

In other terms, he was a centimeter shy of being royally screwed.

Yamamoto turned the corner and found himself on a connected path to Namimori's shopping district. The street before him was suddenly bustling with lively energy, and he could see people everywhere he looked, whether by themselves or in groups of two or more. The sound of tens of voices drifted into his ears.

The shopping district was a place where many people got together and talked about all things social. It was the perfect place for teenagers such as himself to be on a school holiday—as he strolled along, Yamamoto spied a couple of his classmates and he returned the waves and greetings with a wide, innocent smile.

He caught various scents as they wafted past his nose, and his stomach growled its approval. On a different day, he might have stopped for a bite at a bakery or street-side café. But while his stomach was into it, his heart wasn't.

"Flowers! We sell beautiful flowers! Come get your flowers here!"

As Yamamoto moved past the little flower cart with its colorful arrangement of flowers in the flatbed, something caught his eye. His pace slowed, and then stopped altogether.

He had seen the diverse selection of blossoms before, but never had he seen the beauty of the ones in front of him now. It was a simple yellow flower, cup-shaped, with waxy petals the color of pure sunlight. The petals were spread, offering him a view of the stamens and stigmas inside. He wasn't sure what it was about the plant, but it called to him, beckoned to him, as it swayed gently in the slight breeze.

The elderly lady who owned the cart noticed him. "That there is a yellow tulip," she said, and her gap-toothed smile was bright. "It symbolizes hopeless, one-sided love."

"Really?" He reached out and grasped a single petal between his forefinger and thumb, rubbing it gently. It was as smooth as it looked. "Hopeless, one-sided love…," he repeated.

He pointed to the white blossoms beside the yellow tulips. It was colored light pink and simple, and it had five bridged, delicate petals, with a yellow-green cluster in the center. "What about that one?"

The lady cackled softly. "Good to see a youngster taking interest in the meanings of flowers," she said. "That is a dog rose. It symbolizes pleasure and pain. The kind intermingled and fused together."

_Pleasure and pain._

_And a hopeless, one-sided love._

_Who would've thought…?_

He would have never known with just a simple glance.

Yamamoto stared at the two, deep in thought. Something—anguish and despair, most likely—must've been showing on his face, for the woman placed her hand on his arm and murmured, "If something is troubling you, do not hesitate to consult the flowers for advice."

His eyes widened in surprise, and he swung his gaze toward her. She bowed her head, a smile touching her face, and after a moment, he smiled back.

"Then I'd like to take a bouquet of eight," he said, on a whim. "Four dog rose, and four yellow tulips."

He wasn't sure whether you liked flowers or not, but you had always been pleasantly surprised to receive a gift. It was a small gamble worth taking. And it was the only thing Yamamoto could do for the time being.

* * *

**LCIH:** This is a really short one, you guys! I've got plans for this story, I do, but right now, I am in the middle of sorting everything out. Trust me: the approaching conflict is going to be huge!

**LCIH: **This is why I needed a short chapter here. Hopefully you understand where I'm coming from (feel free to hate me.)

**LCIH:** Plus, I've been watching the KHR! anime and my priorities have shifted to finishing the anime. I've got twenty-something more episodes to go.

**LCIH: **Anyways, I hope you've enjoyed thus far~! Please continue to support me,; you guys have been wonderful.


	44. Is That Healthy?

_"You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain, baby. To me, you're a growing addiction that I can't deny. Won't you tell me, is that healthy, baby?" _

* * *

You weren't sure what to make of the bouquet on the bed.

After your breakfast with Vongola Decimo and his right-hand man, you hadn't directly gone back to the Yamamoto house. Instead, you had wandered aimlessly around the town of Namimori, clad in only a plastic windbreaker to protect you from the cold.

You didn't really do anything; you only walked until your cheeks were numb, until your feet were sore from exhaustion. At that point, you had turned and made your way back. Nothing really stuck out to you during your journey. It had all passed as a blur.

Tsuyoshi was manning the grill when you returned, and he scolded you for not keeping your earlier promise of returning for lunch. You were guilty, but you were also tired and irritated and you had given the older man some smart-ass retorts. Luckily, he wrongly assumed that you were on your period and backed off.

So you wearily climbed the stairs, wanting desperately the hot, cleansing water of a bath, but you were too exhausted to seriously consider the effort of running the bath or waiting for it to fill. A quick shower would have to do.

And then you had spotted the flowers.

They had just been lying on the bed, on top of the pillow. It was a bouquet wrapped in shiny, silver paper. Eight blossoms were encased within the paper: four waxy-looking yellow tulips, and four simple pink roses. Their sweet scent hung in the air, and it was enticing but also intoxicating and sickly, and you nearly gagged when you took a deep breath.

_How lovely, _you thought, as you lightly fingered the petals. The bouquet couldn't have been there for long; you'd only been out for a couple of hours, three at the most.

And there was only one person you could think of who had left it there.

But _why?_

The boy in question was nowhere to be found, but his baseball jacket was draped on the back of his chair, so he was nearby. You didn't really want to speak to him, and so you decided now was a good time to take that shower.

"This is all so troublesome," you sighed, as you unzipped your windbreaker and let it fall unceremoniously to the carpet. Avoiding Yamamoto was one of the hardest things to do—it was even harder than avoiding your father. Yamamoto knew practically everything about you, and he understood you better than anyone else. It also worked in the opposite way: he had always been easy to read. But now, you couldn't tell what the raven-haired male was thinking, and it was as risky as it was thrilling.

You pulled your shirt over your head and stepped out of your yoga pants, leaving them to join your windbreaker on the floor. You went into the adjacent bathroom and twisted the faucet on. Time was on your hands, so you would be able to pamper yourself with a bath. And luckily for you, Kyoko had given you sweet-smelling rose petals for a scented bath; you took the canister out from its hiding spot in one of the sink cabinets and scattered a couple of handfuls over the rising water.

You perched on the edge of the bathtub and unclasped your bra as you waited for the tub to fill.

_Riiing. Riiing._

Like a cat, your ears pricked toward the sound. It was coming from Yamamoto's corded phone. You got up and found the phone, resting on the small dresser behind a spare cap.

"Hello?"

"Yamamoto-kun?" said a voice that was equal parts breathy and squeaky. You recognized it almost immediately. "Is that you? Listen, I called to apologize again about earlier. You know, with the kiss and all—"

"Excuse me." You interrupted her right there. "_What_ did you just say?"

There was a silence. Nervous laughter then assaulted your eardrum. "Oh! (Y-Y/n)! Hi! This is Suzuki. I, um, I didn't expect you t-to pick up…b-by any chance, is Yamamoto-kun around?"

"No. He's not," you said sharply. "Can you repeat what you said just now?"

"Um, I think I'll call again later—"

"What did you mean by kiss?"

Something must've been in your voice; the girl was cowed into silence again, longer this time. You were involuntarily gripping the phone hard in your hand, and you attempted to force your muscles to relax.

Suzuki sounded almost scared when she finally spoke again. "W-Well, we were at Namimori High, and he was helping me pick up all the litter…it's, um, part of my student council requirements, and Yamamoto-kun said he would help…" She trailed off. You desperately wanted to slap her through the receiver.

"And?"

"And, ah, we were talking, and he remembered that he had to go because of baseball, and so I k-kissed him…"

A thousand responses flooded through your brain. Some of them were civilized and calm, rational and sensible. The majority of the responses were temperamental and hot-headed, snarky and bitchy. But, god, you were downright pissed.

"I can't believe," you started.

And then you snapped your mouth shut. Who were you to talk, anyway? What Yamamoto did was none of your business. That included who he kissed.

_I don't care,_ you told yourself. _I don't care. I don't. I don't._

"Suzuki," you said instead.

"Y-Yes?"

"Don't call him Yamamoto-kun." You couldn't resist adding, "And try to keep your slimy lips off him."

"What is that supposed—"

You jabbed your finger down, ending the call.

Keeping away from Yamamoto had to be one of the hardest things you'd ever done. You sighed tiredly and tossed the phone back onto the dresser. Then you headed back into the bathroom for your bath.


	45. Keeping Me From Harm

_"I know I'd never be me without the security of your loving arms keeping me from harm. Put your hand in my hand, and we'll stand…" _

* * *

"Hold on just a moment, Takeshi."

The command was spoken in a dry, sandpapery voice, one that Yamamoto hadn't heard specifically for him in a while now. He didn't turn around; he bent forward and scooped up his glove from the grass, shifting his weight so that he stood on the balls of his feet. He was ready to move if he needed to.

Last time he'd been called out on the diamond, he had taken a swing to his stomach. From a wooden bat. Yamamoto wasn't looking forward to a repeat. Though it had happened over a month ago and he had slowly healed from it, there were still some nights where he woke up from painful baseball dreams, bathed in a thin sheet of sweat.

He could hear the older man lumber toward him. There was no musical clink. Nothing indicated that he was holding bats.

Yamamoto slowly straightened up. He turned to face (l/n) with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. Genuine smiles were hard for him to dish out nowadays. "What's up, Coach?"

(L/n) held his clipboard, and it rested on his hip as he spread his legs wide, taking up a defensive stance. "I've got a question, maggot, and I want a straight answer."

What could this be about? Yamamoto had been nothing short of the model baseball player for the last few practices; he hadn't done or said anything to tick the man off. To be honest, he'd hardly spoken during the workouts. "I'm all ears," he said, nodding once.

"At the game against Fuyutora, you mentioned something about not screwing my daughter. That it wasn't your job." The look in (l/n)'s gunmetal eyes was chary. "Care to elaborate?"

Well, it had only been a matter of time before the subject was brought up. Personally, Yamamoto had been hoping he wouldn't have to spill, but what could he do? He had completely forgotten about that comment he'd made. It was history, buried and forgotten in the depths of his brain.

Yamamoto decided that answering nonchalantly and flippantly was probably the best way to go. He worked his facial muscles into another carefree smile. "Oh, haven't you heard?"

"Haven't I heard what?"

"(Y/n)'s going out with someone."

He felt his smile waning. Damn, he'd been good at keeping his darker emotions hidden beneath trademark grins not too long ago!

And what was with the ache in his chest? It burned, like someone had rammed a metal rod into his skin and set it aflame. He envisioned your happy face on that terrible night when you'd agreed to Masao's request. _"Masao asked me out, and I said yes!"_ you had chirped, with a smile so brilliant it hurt. "_Gosh, it was so cute of him! I couldn't say no! Isn't it just great?_"

Yamamoto expected (l/n) to blow up at the thought of his daughter dating. He had been strict about that type of thing before he became an alcoholic, and Yamamoto figured his views hadn't changed. But there a slow smirk was spreading over the man's chapped lips.

(L/n) gave a bark of laughter. "So who is the lucky man? Is he someone I know? Someone on the baseball team, perhaps?"

It took a moment for Yamamoto to get over his initial surprise. "No, ah, he's not into sports. He's a rather average kid."

"A rather average kid, you say?" The man's chest puffed out, as though he were proud. "Imagine that!" he exclaimed, sniggering. "She's getting fucked by some Average Joe! I never thought the day would come!"

Cold fury sputtered to life inside Yamamoto's gut. He turned the corners of his mouth up into a barely-there smile, pressing his fists against his thighs. He was _so_ close to socking the man in the face.

(L/n) abruptly stopped chortling. He fixed Yamamoto with a gaze that could kill; and if it could, Yamamoto would have died ten times over. "Well, maggot? How come you didn't put Average Joe in line?"

_Hmm. Good question. _

_You know, I really don't have an answer for that._

Odd. Yamamoto had never thought about it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he realized it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with your happiness. Ever since you began seeing Masao, you had taken a turn for the better. You were jubilant. You were bubbly.

You had _life_ again.

And who was he to steal it away from you?

(L/n)'s smirk took on a hard edge. "And don't tell me otherwise, I know you've got yourself a damned crush on my bitch."

That was enough. A split second of vertigo engulfed Yamamoto before he yelled, "She's not 'your bitch'! She's got a name, you know!"

The older man was taken aback. Then he stepped forward. "Listen here, Takeshi—"

"I don't want to hear it, Coach." With visible difficulty, Yamamoto lowered his voice back to normal volume, but his hands were shaking with the need to punch something, _anything_. And he knew exactly what he wanted to slam.

Why was he feeling miserable over this? It was as if a fragment of your pain had embedded itself into his brain, like a splinter; it was hell to remove and untouched, it drove him insane. "Why won't you say her fucking name? You couldn't have forgotten it. You just refuse to say it, right?"

A smile of disbelief was crawling across (l/n)'s face, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. "You're a little hung up over this, maggot. But the matter between me and her doesn't concern you—"

Yamamoto couldn't stop the bitter chuckle from tumbling past his lips. "Haha. It doesn't concern me, huh? That's what you think." Agitated, he ran his fingers through his spiky raven hair, digging them into his scalp for leverage. "That's what you think," he repeated. "But everything she does concerns me. Every. Single. Damn. Thing."

This time, (l/n) was silent. He stared at Yamamoto, his brows pulled together.

"She's like poison," Yamamoto said, after he had taken a few calming breaths. They hadn't really helped, but at least he didn't want to strangle the man standing in front of him anymore right here and right now. "She's beautiful and I'm entranced, but I know she'll kill me if I involve myself with her. And yet, I can't keep away.

"Actually, no," he rephrased, "she's more like alcohol. You can relate to that, can't you?"

"You don't know shit—," (L/n) snapped.

"I know enough," Yamamoto fired back.

(L/n) threw his hands up and muttered a curse. Everything about his posture indicated _murder._ It was a promise of violence, of bloodlust. Without another word, he whirled on his heel and stalked away.

Yamamoto waited, teeth clenched, until he had disappeared from the diamond and from his sight. Then his legs gave out, and he crumpled onto the dirt, managing to catch himself with his hands. He turned his head into his shoulder and dug his fingers into the dirt, and he stayed that way for a long time.

* * *

**LCIH: **Sorry for the delay of updating! I sincerely apologize. It's not that I've been neglecting this story, it's been because of problems with my foot. My right big toe got infected and swollen and...yeah, I'm not going to into details, but let's just say it wasn't pretty. At all. In fact, it was rather painful, and every time I sat down to write, the pain would be there to distract me.

**LCIH: **Anywho, I finally went to see a doctor and after minor surgery, my foot is back to normal! Actually, it's in the healing stage. I can't walk or anything, so I'm here, typing as I listen to Pentatonix (so fucking sick! You _have _to listen to them! Especially their song "The Baddest Girl"!)

**LCIH: **Hahaha, so hopefully you're not all mad with me for not updating, and again, I apologize. There's a chance I'm going to be missing a few days of school, so I'll try to get some writing done. Happy reading!~


	46. Hiding the Words

_"You see the smile that's on my mouth. It's hiding the words that don't come out. And all of my friends who think I'm blessed, they don't know my head is a mess; no, they don't know who I really am…" _

* * *

You knew you couldn't go on any longer. Your relationship with Masao just wasn't working out, and it was killing you. It literally was killing you. Every moment you'd spent with the gentle boy made you feel as though you were the happiest girl alive when the whole thing had first been blossoming. Now, your chest burned at the sight of him, at his touch, his voice, his scent, even.

You felt guilty about it, too. Masao really was harboring feelings. He didn't suspect that anything was wrong between the two of you.

Breaking up was the furthest thing on his mind, and you didn't want to announce that it was time to call it quits. You had taken his emotions into consideration, and it was going to crush him.

But at the same time, pretending as though everything was fine and carrying on would only be taking advantage of him. And every second you wasted was costing you.

So you called him up that weekend and arranged to meet him at your favorite smoothie bar.

Anxiety was working its terrible magic on you, and you ended up going to the bar an hour early. It was a dumb move on your part, and to pass the time, you doodled on a napkin with a pen you'd found lying on the tabletop, forgotten by its owner.

There must've been something on your face. The waitress approached you a couple times, inquiring whether or not you wanted something to drink. You politely declined the first five times or so, but when it became apparent that she wasn't going to take no for an answer, you gave in and ordered a small wild-berry smoothie. Her smile could have lit up the darkest of rooms.

What seemed like an eternity, but was probably only forty-five minutes slipped by, and soon the square inch of the napkin was covered entirely in black ink. You had drained your smoothie down to the bottom a while ago. Your stomach wasn't anywhere near full, but it was in knots, and if you ate anything else, you couldn't promise that it wouldn't reappear.

You held your head in both hands, your elbows on the table, and you focused on shutting out the rest of the world. Sure, you had broken up with guys before, and sure, you had initiated quite a few of them, but this one was different than all those other times. This one meant so much more.

Eventually, you heard the waitress chirp out an energetic, "Welcome! Would you like anything to drink?" followed by an, "No, thank you," spoken in an averagely deep baritone that belonged to an equally average male.

_Here we go._

You had all about two seconds before his fingertips ghosted at your shoulder. You involuntarily jumped. "(Y/n)-chan, hey," said Masao, as he took a seat across from you. His smile was relaxed and open. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"What d-do you mean?" you stammered, thrown off by the eagerness in his smile. "You didn't keep me waiting."

"Oh, really? That's good, then." He scratched the back of his head; his smile lingered on the corners of his lips, lips you had gotten quite familiar with these couple of weeks. Although it had never evolved into anything past an open-mouthed kiss, you knew those lips pretty well. _Not as well as _his, _of course…_

You broke eye contact with him, staring down at the clenched napkin in your lap like it was the most interesting thing you had ever seen. Oh, dear Lord, this was going to be difficult.

"So, (y/n)-chan, what did you want to talk to me about? You didn't sound like yourself over the phone earlier." Masao leaned back, getting comfortable, and as he shifted his legs, his knee brushed your thigh. You tensed. Lately, all the little touches between the two of you, both intentional and unintentional, made your stomach hurt.

You took a deep breath, tucking a lock of your (h/c) hair behind your ear. "Um, Masao-san," you said.

He focused his eyes on you, his brows raised in question, waiting.

You faltered under his gaze. "U-um…"

_Spit it out already!_

"I'msorrybutIthinkweshouldbreak upI'mreallysorrypleaseforgiveme!"

His smile became a little helpless. "Uh, sorry, could you repeat that? I didn't quite understand what you said…"

Not even Reborn would have been able to understand what you'd said. You sighed, wanting to look away but knowing that you couldn't do that, and so you zeroed in on him and said, "I think we should break up."

From your past experiences in dealing with break ups, there were two possible outcomes: he was either going to nod obediently, ask for friendship and wish you the best of luck, and get up calmly to leave, or he was going to narrow his eyes hatefully at you and swear.

What you got was the middle reaction: Masao's jaw dropped, his brows lifted higher, and he looked downright stunned.

It was only a few seconds before he recovered, however, and as he straightened his mouth back into a neutral grin, he said, "So it's over, huh?"

"I'm sorry, Masao-san."

He didn't say anything. The silence was thick and uncomfortable, and to fill it, you continued with, "It's not your fault or anything, but I just—"

He rubbed his hand over his face and exhaled loudly. "Don't give me that, (y/n)-chan."

This time, you were quiet. Oh, no, was he angry? Of course he was, you had just broken up with him! Any self-respecting guy would be angry at this point…

"You know, I saw this coming."

The wise, knowing tone in Masao's voice caused you to sit perfectly upright, legs locked and perpendicular with the tile floor. That tone…

"It's because of Takeshi-san, isn't it?"

The world around you stopped. Everything just froze. The waitress stopped, her pretty heart-shaped mouth open and in the middle of exchanging numbers with a flirtatious-looking college dude. The water stopped, still travelling from the pitcher to the man's cup. The pedestrians strolling by outside stopped, too.

"That's not it," you began, but Masao's look was uncharacteristically stormy, and you swallowed your words down. "That's—yes."

"I thought so."

All too soon, the world had resumed its constant motion. Its pace was seemingly dizzying. A headache pounded away at the base of your skull as you heard the waitress's coy giggle, the musical clink of the water against the cup, the footsteps of the people out on the streets.

Masao was standing, reaching to zip up the front of his fleece. He was going to leave, you realized, and you started to get onto your feet as well. You had finally broken up with him, but you weren't content with the aftermath, and it was in your power to change it, to call him back—

"Look, I don't know what exactly is going on," Masao said as he faced you, his hand still on the zipper. "But I can tell that something's up with Takeshi-san. He hasn't been acting like himself lately. And did you know that he's skipped baseball practice throughout this week?"

Unable to respond, you just looked at him.

He stared you down for a long moment, and then a smile graced his lips. "Your heart was never into it, either, (y/n)-chan. Your heart was never into _us_. I could tell that our relationship was causing you agony." He bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I should have said something earlier."

"N-no. I should have…"

"But I'm glad you stuck around with me for a little longer, the way you did. I'm not lying when I say I still like you. You're a sweet, charming, funny girl. Act more like yourself, will you?"

Masao opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, then bit his lip. He was turning to go when he stopped, whirled back around, and darted forward to kiss you cheek gently. "By all means, help Takeshi-san out with whatever is bothering him. And I'm always here for you, okay? Whenever you're ready to talk."

To anyone else, his smile would have just looked average. An average smile on an average-looking boy.

It clouded your eyes with tears.

And before you knew it, Masao was gone, leaving nothing of his presence behind but the faint lingering of his lips and the vaguest scent of lemongrass.

With that, another chapter of your life was drawn to a close. You should have felt overwhelmingly grateful. Instead, you sank back down with a single sob, a tear briefly introducing itself to the smooth plane of your cheek and then disappearing into your hair.


	47. World's Gonna Know Your Name

_"Dedicate yourself and you can find yourself standing in the hall of fame, and the world's gonna know your name, cause you burn with the brightest flame…" _

* * *

You weren't sure how long you sat in the smoothie shop. It could have been ten minutes, a half hour, two hours. You just sat there, eyes wide, your fingers locked onto the back of your neck, holding it as though your neck would snap off any second.

From time to time, the waitress would look over. The concern on her face shouldn't have been there—her face was already so beautiful, and all the concern did was tug her lips down in a frown and produce ridges on her forehead. There were moments where she took a few steps in your direction, intending to say something to bring you out of your stupor-like reverie, but she would always turn back around.

Time trickled by, endless grains of sand in an enormous, invisible hourglass that encased you within.

You only sat, stared, blinked, breathed.

Until…

"(Y/n)! Play with the greatest, ultimate Lambo-san!"

Something furry and small was launched into your face, and you jerked backward in reflex, hands coming up to catch whatever it was.

Lambo grinned up at you, his large green eyes twinkling with childish mirth. "Are you gonna play with Lambo-san, (y/n)? Are you?! Are you?!" Then he gave a haughty turn of his head. "Of course, you have to listen to everything Lambo-san says because you are his minion!"

"Hi, Lambo-kun," you murmured. Your voice had gone hoarse from you not speaking for the last few minutes _hours?_

"Lambo! Where did you go?"

"Stupid cow, running off and not listening to the Tenth…"

Two very familiar figures stepped into the smoothie bar, one looking very distraught and worried, the other scowling and pissed as always.

"There you are, Lambo!" Relief flooding his features, Tsuna rushed forward and quickly grabbed Lambo off your face. For a moment, he smiled; then his face became serious as he scolded the child. "How many times do I tell you not to run off?"

Lambo giggled his semi-obnoxious laugh. "Wahahaha! Lambo-san wants a smoothie!" He climbed onto Tsuna's shoulder and craned his head to view the counter and its signs up front. "Grape! Lambo-san wants a grape smoothie!"

"Jeez, you stupid cow," Gokudera muttered, joining Tsuna at his side. He grabbed one of Lambo's cheeks and squeezed; the action looked rather painful. "Listen to the Tenth, will you? And we're not here to buy you a smoothie!"

Lambo stuck his tongue out. "Stupidera!"

"Why, you-!"

"Stop it, you two." Tsuna sighed, scrubbing a hand through his spiky hair. "All right, Lambo, I'll buy you a smoothie. But you both need to stop acting so immaturely."

Gokudera bowed his head a couple of times. "Forgive me, Tenth! My actions were foolish!"

"I-It's okay…"

With a sheepish look, Tsuna turned to face you. "I'm sorry that Lambo latched onto your face…" He blinked, realizing that it was _you._ "Oh! (Y/n)!"

You tried to return the warm smile, but your lips wouldn't curve. "Tsuna." Behind him, Gokudera's scowl deepened. "And Gokudera-kun."

"What are you doing here?" the brunette inquired, with a friendly tilt of his head. His voice was suddenly laced with concern when he said, "You don't look good, (y/n). What's wrong? Are you okay?"

The whole time you had been sitting by your lonesome in the bar, you hadn't cried more than a single tear. You had felt empty. Your eyes were dry. Any normal girl would've been heartbroken after a break up, but you'd been completely empty. The funny thing was, you wanted to cry. To reassure yourself. But the tears just wouldn't come.

All it took was a simple glance at Tsuna's face and you broke down.

Being one of those boys who don't know what to do when they see a girl's tears, Tsuna stammered about for something to say. "U-um, don't c-cry, (y/n)! I'm sure e-everything will work out, w-whatever your problem m-may be?" Hands clasped to your eyes, you shook your head, and Tsuna floundered again. "Well, then, ah, d-do you want to t-tell me what's wrong?"

"…tch. Women and their mindless behavior."

"Gokudera-kun!"

Gokudera just snorted, his eyes narrowing as he watched you sob. After a few seconds, the hard edge of his scowl lessened—to the point where it had almost softened—and he exhaled loudly.

Uninterested in it all, Lambo began poking Tsuna's scalp, bugging him to go buy the grape smoothie. Tsuna gave him some money, and the little kid ran off toward the counter with a big grin, leaving the three of you behind.

The waterworks continued on for a little bit longer before you reached for a napkin and wiped your face. You were very aware of the fact that you were a mess. "Good thing I di-didn't put makeup on th-this morning, huh?" you stuttered, sniffling in between every other word.

Unsure what to say, Tsuna cracked a smile. He took a seat across from you, in the same seat Masao had been sitting in, and with obvious reluctance, Gokudera sat down as well.

"So, uh." Tsuna cleared his throat, once. "(Y/n)—"

"Why were you crying?" Gokudera demanded, his expression stony and hard to read.

You had to laugh at his bluntness. It was like having cold water splashed into your face: his straight-forward style, his voice of reason and logic was exactly what you needed right now. Although Tsuna's concern was nice, you preferred Gokudera's response.

Tsuna was turning toward Gokudera, ready to reprimand him, when you said, "No, no, it's okay." You met Gokudera's eyes; his green-silver eyes sliced into yours. "I just broke up with Masao-san."

There it was. That sense of gratefulness. Your relationship with Masao was over now—did that mean Yamamoto would talk to you again? _Yama-kun…_

"Oh, really? Is that all it was?" Tsuna brightened. "Good, I thought maybe it was because Lambo hurt you or something…"

"Yeah, right."

"Because of a break up, eh? The waterworks seemed a little over-the-top for something as minor as that," Gokudera said, looking dubious.

You smirked at him. "Well, you wouldn't understand, Gokudera-kun! After all, you've never gone out with anyone, have you? So you've never been through a break up!"

"That has nothing to do—"

"Of course, I'm willing to be your girlfriend." You batted your lashes at him, and he blanched, turning to scoff his distaste. You caught the amused pull of his lips as he did.

Pressing your hands to the tabletop, you got to your feet. "Well, I guess it's time I take my leave," you told the two Vongola. "Sorry for the trouble and everything, you guys."

"Wait! Why don't you stay? We'll be here for a while anyway, since Lambo's getting a smoothie," Tsuna offered.

"That's okay," you declined gently, with a soft shake of your head. "I've been here long enough. Between you and me, Tsuna, I think they're getting a little suspicious of me."

"They have every right to be," Gokudera sniped.

You only gave the two a wave. "See you around!" And as you headed out the door, you couldn't help smiling like an idiot to yourself. Masao was out of your life, and there was the possibility of Yamamoto coming back into your life. It was great, right? There was nothing wrong between you and the raven-haired teen anymore, right?

_Right?_


	48. Just a Game

_"…kept playing love like it was just a game, pretending to feel the same, then turn around and leave again."_

* * *

The end of the baseball season was only a couple of days away, and all of the members of both the club and the team had decided that it would be best to throw an end-of-the-year party. It was expected to be wild and crazy, as any party would become if a it were chockfull of testosterone.

It was going to be held at Akira's house, for he had the biggest space available. In addition to that, Akira was pretty rich, and his parents were cool with hanging out in central town as the party went on, so that they weren't in the way.

Yamamoto wasn't sure if he wanted to attend the party. It wasn't that he didn't like parties—he did, although they weren't really his thing—but every member was attending, as were the supervisors and coaches. (L/n) would definitely be there as well.

He wasn't itching for another confrontation with the man. The two barely spoke anymore during practices; (l/n) refused to say anything, and Yamamoto was just fine with the mutual silence. After all, he only had to endure one more game and a handful of practices before baseball was over. With the arrival of spring season came a new team, with new managers and new coaches. There was a very good chance Yamamoto wouldn't get (l/n) as his coach next year.

The funny thing was, Yamamoto couldn't recall the last time he had wished so desperately for the season to end.

Anyway, back to the point: if Yamamoto wasn't planning to go to the party, then he would have to find an alternative. And a good excuse as to why he wasn't going to show. He could lie and say something about working Takesushi, or about how he had to study for an upcoming math exam.

He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. All of the chaos was making his head hurt, and he wanted to do nothing more than trudge up to his room for some time to himself.

Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, Yamamoto picked up the pace and arrived in front of his home in a few minutes. "Pops, I'm home," he called, as he entered through the doorway into the sushi bar.

"You sure took your time getting home, Takeshi," replied Tsuyoshi, from where he was standing behind the grill. His voice was stern, but his expression was as open and friendly as his son's. "Weren't you supposed to be back an hour ago? I've had to man Takesushi all by myself."

Right, but Yamamoto had to stay after school to for some supplementary tutoring. He hadn't done too hot on a past quiz. He wasn't going to tell his father that, of course. "Sorry, sorry." He headed over to join Tsuyoshi. "Do you still need help? I'm here."

"Not anymore, I don't," Tsuyoshi answered, giving him a wayward glance. "But help sure would've been nice an hour ago. It's tough, you know, when you're as old as me."

"That's not true," Yamamoto protested.

Another voice joined the conversation, low and warm. "I agree whole-heartedly, Takeshi. One never gets too old. Your father just needs to wake up and smell the flowers, hmm?"

It was Iemitsu Sawada, Tsuna's scruffy, blond-haired father. Yamamoto wasn't sure how he could have missed seeing the man at the counter; he wore his usual attire of a white sleeveless shirt and baggy, florescent orange pants, with the matching jacket tied around his waist. Set out in front of his was a finished plate of sushi rolls and a half-empty cup of sake.

"It's been a while, Takeshi," said Iemitsu, as he grinned. "You're looking well."

"Nice to see you, thanks." It had been a few months since Yamamoto had last seen the Outside Advisor hanging around. He had gone back to Italy for some business regarding CEDEF shortly before school had started.

"So tell me, how goes everything with you? Doing well in school? How's baseball? Have you found a girlfriend yet?"

"Uh, everything's fine, school's okay, baseball's nice, and no," Yamamoto replied.

A hand clapped his shoulder, and he didn't have to look to know it belonged to his father. "It's surprising, Iemitsu, but this boy isn't even interested in finding a girlfriend."

"Shame, for he's such a looker."

"Hahahaha."

The topic of a girlfriend was pretty sensitive, and Yamamoto did nothing more than paste a smile on his face. His father was wrong—he _was_ interested in a girl. The problem was, she wasn't interested in him. And she'd made that very clear.

Three guesses as to who that girl could possibly be.

The two older men were now talking about possible girlfriends for Yamamoto. Tsuyoshi was rattling off the qualities he would like to see, and Iemitsu was nodding and suggesting a wide variety of girls Yamamoto wasn't sure how he knew. With a roll of his eyes, the raven-haired teen headed toward the stairs for a quick escape to his room when Iemitsu's voice stopped him.

"What about that girl in Takeshi's room? She seems like the perfect match. And she's cute~ I've met her before, what's her name…?"

"Oh, you mean (y/n)? Hmm, interesting. I never even thought about that."

"That's it! (Y/n)! I remember now."

You were currently in his room?

There was no way Yamamoto was going up, then.

_God, when did I become such a coward?_

He slowly turned around, found that both men were staring at him. "Uh, I think I'll stay here and help around, okay, Pops?"

"Sure, do whatever." Tsuyoshi sounded puzzled.

Iemitsu wore a rogue grin, like he knew what was going on.

Yamamoto walked back over to the grill, unzipping his jacket and draping it on the back of a nearby chair. He shoved the sleeves of his Namimori uniform up to his elbows. The sink was full of used platter, and Yamamoto figured it couldn't hurt to wash them all. Slowly and carefully.

Untying his apron, Tsuyoshi said something about having to make a last-minute delivery and he exited the sushi bar, holding a package under one arm. Yamamoto was left with Iemitsu; the older man sat quietly for a few minutes, taking a sip of his sake now and then as Yamamoto worked on cleaning the dishes.

Then Iemitsu spoke. "So you're avoiding her?"

Yamamoto didn't answer.

"How come?"

_It's not really your business, is it?_ That was rude, and Yamamoto only raised his shoulders in a shrug, hoping the blonde would leave it at that.

No such luck. "Takeshi, when you're having romance problems, the worst thing to do is avoid the girl in question. Even if the whole thing is her fault. It just makes her feel bad, you know? If you really love her, you would forgive her."

"It's not that easy," Yamamoto finally said, the words flying from his mouth against his will. You had taken his heart and shredded it, destroying all of the feelings he had been sure you'd seen. You weren't that oblivious; you knew how to take a hint. To think that he had loved you for so long, and you just didn't care…

_Hold up. She's having problems of her own, remember? It's not entirely her fault…_

Guilt struck Yamamoto in the gut, and he grimaced. Okay, so he had a right to be mad at you, but maybe he was acting a little overdramatic…

"I ran into Tsuna today," Iemitsu was saying, as he leaned back into his seat and got comfortable. "He was with that Storm Guardian, Gokudera, I think it was? Apparently they were at some smoothie bar down the street, with (y/n).

"Tsuna was wearing this sort of thinking face, so I asked him what was up. He said something about how he had been comforting her. She'd been crying."

Instantly Yamamoto was alert, his nerve ends buzzing with alarm. There had been baseball practice after school again, but he hadn't gone, and so he wasn't sure whether or not (l/n) had gone, either. Had something happened between (l/n) and you? _Oh, fuck…_

He caught the low note of amusement as Iemitsu chuckled. "She broke up with her boyfriend, according to my son. Though he wasn't told the reason why."

His wariness was slammed clear out of him, and his emotions softened until Yamamoto was almost happy. Imagine that, he was happy you'd broken up with Masao. After all, the average kid had never really been your type. He wondered who had initiated the breakup—you were usually on the receiving end, but maybe this time, you had taken action?

He continued to scrub down the plates with soap, but his lips were curving until he was grinning; the grin practically stretched from ear to ear. Masao was out of the picture.

But there was still a rift between you and him.

_Who cares? She broke up with him._

"Something funny, Takeshi?" Iemitsu inquired knowingly.

"No, it's nothing." Yamamoto didn't stop smiling, though.


	49. Fallin' In and Out

_"I keep on fallin' in and out of love with you. I never loved someone the way I'm lovin' you…"_

* * *

It was just after noon, and you were slouched in your seat in history class, one hand propping up your chin. Up in the front of the room, the teacher was droning on and on about some revolution or another. They were all similar in your book.

The routine was blandly simple: history was the one class you were lectured at by the teacher for the entire fifty-minute block. He was so into his facts about important people and bloody battles and whatnot that he never noticed his students' reactions. Roughly half were staring blankly. There were about ten who were sleeping behind the cover of their textbooks. A handful of students were doing last-minute homework, and there were three kids actually listening.

You sighed, tuning out the endless drone. This class was never the highlight of your day. You had just had lunch, and with a full stomach, you wanted nothing more than to close your eyes for a few minutes. But there was the possibility of being caught—if any of the students were found sleeping, it would be you.

One glance around the room showed you that up in the front, Gokudera was furiously scribbling something down onto scratch paper. He looked like he was taking notes, but you knew better. He was working on his G Script. Tsuna was gazing out the window.

Sitting diagonally behind you, Yamamoto was busy writing.

Your eyes lingered on him for a little longer than necessary, admiring his lithe form and his broad shoulders as he sat hunched over the paper. Admiring the muscles in his forearm, flexing as he wrote. Admiring the look of concentration on his face. He worked with his mouth slightly open, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his lips.

It had been two days since you'd broken up with Masao. You sometimes bumped into him in the hallways, in the steady flow of students walking to their classes. You would stammer out a greeting, and he would always smile and respond, and then the two of you would be on your way. Despite the whole relationship ending and everything, Masao's hazel eyes were always inviting.

He wasn't for you, but he would make a good—no, great—boyfriend for some lucky girl.

Yamamoto still hadn't spoken to you.

You weren't sure whether he had caught wind of the breakup or not. For the last two nights, you had planned to tell him, but he hadn't come in until after you had fallen asleep waiting for him.

_It's all too complicated,_ you thought with a sigh. _I'm sure he would be happy if I could just tell him…_

As if he could hear your thoughts, he looked up.

His eyes, caramel and oh so alluring, cut into yours. You completely froze up, staring at him.

Somehow, you tore your eyes away, and you looked straight ahead at the chalkboard with all of its dates and timelines displayed. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage. Your cheeks were hot.

Not a word had been spoken between the two of you, and you were flustered with just one simple _look_?

"I'm so stupid," you murmured to yourself, trying to divert your attention from him to the teacher and his monotone lecture.

Something was tossed onto your desk, and you almost jumped when it fell into your lap, crinkling softly. Your hand quickly closed around it, and you flicked your eyes back and forth to see whether or not anyone had seen you. When you concluded that you were safe, you examined the object.

It was a note.

Curious, you unfolded the sheet of paper as silently as possible.

_Hey, so I heard from Tsuna that you broke up with Masao. How're you feeling?_

You easily recognized the calligraphy as Yamamoto's. You were surprised for two reasons: he'd heard from Tsuna? And he was asking you how you felt? Last time you'd checked, he'd been angry with you for dating the kid.

You scrawled your reply underneath his. **Um, I'm okay, I guess. Why?** You tossed the folded note toward his general direction without looking, knowing he'd catch it.

His answer was quick. _Tsuna said you were crying. Sorry about the breakup._

**Don't be. Things just weren't working out.**

_Look…(Y/n), I'm sorry._

The two words held your attention, and while a part deep down inside of you knew what he meant, you hoped he was still talking about the breakup. **What for?**

_For acting like an asshole these last few weeks__._

Your heart was stuck in your throat.

You weren't sure what to say, and as you pondered over what you could possibly write, you gripped the paper tightly in one hand. Yamamoto either got fed up with waiting or he was on a word-vomit; another note landed on your desk, much longer in comparison to the others.

_I got so caught up in the fact that you were dating Masao, and I didn't even think to remember what you were going through. I acted like such an asshole. I know. I guess I was jealous. But I realized it the other day, and I can't blame you for wanting to find some happiness outside of the chaos we're currently in. _

_So I'm sorry, (y/n). Really sorry. I love you, you know, and I want the best for you. No matter what. You know that, right?_

Your eyes zeroed in on the three magic words. _I love you._ Did he mean…? No, of course he didn't. He was only speaking as a friend. Those words were innocent. There was no underlying of lust, of desire. He only meant it because he and you were the best of friends; you knew it, and you cursed yourself for questioning a promising romance.

Slowly, you turned and stole a glance at him.

He tipped his head in your direction, examining you with sensual, hooded eyes.

"Yama-kun," you whispered, feeling shy and yet knowing it was meant to be. He was offering a truce, and you were willing to take it. To have his friendship again, you would have to destroy any budding of love. _Please…_ "I forgive you. Of course I forgive you."

His eyes widened ever so slightly. Then his head hung down, and for a moment, you thought he was depressed or something until you saw his frame shaking. He was laughing quietly.

He raised his head, grinning. "Phew, I'm glad," he whispered back. "You had me there for a second, (y/n). I'd just spilled a piece of my heart, and I thought you would shred it again."

_A-Again…?_

Without any restraint, Yamamoto laughed out loud, a carrying "Ahahaha," that grabbed the attention of the teacher up front. Angry, the older man smacked his pointer down hard onto his wooden desk; the noise upon contact was sharp and loud and woke up practically everyone in the room.

"Takeshi!" bellowed the angry, red-faced teacher. "What is so funny?"

"Sorry, sorry, Sensei." Yamamoto was chuckling as he responded, hiding a split grin behind one fist. All around you, your classmates were nudging one another with grins of their own—with Yamamoto, random laughter was a daily occurrence.

"Takeshi, why don't you tell me what you thought about the war, in your own words?" the man fumed.

"Um, what war?"

"The one I've been talking about for the last half hour!"

"_Hai_, okay, sure."

* * *

**LCIH:** So we finally reach a confrontation! Because I am feeling terribly ill, and lacking a bit of inspiration, this chapter will be rather short and not as dynamic as the confrontation is meant to be. However, I've got something planned that will, mark my words, blow your minds away~! Only a few more chapters, lovelies, bear with me.

**LCIH:** I need to do a little bit of soul-searching, brain-cleaning. I'm all jazzed up for some reason; I'm just really, really restless today. I don't even know what it is!

**LCIH:** Anyways, I hope you can all settle for the tiny dialogue soon to be presented between Yamamoto and the reader. And again, I apologize; it will be as dramatic as satisfying in a couple more chapters!


	50. L-O-V-E's Just Another Word

_"Now, L-O-V-E's just another word I never learned to pronounce…" _

* * *

You were on your way to your last class when a hand on your shoulder stopped you. The fingers were unidentifiable in the friendly gesture, and you took a quick guess as to who they belonged to as you turned to the side.

It was a boy, one of Yamamoto's fellow teammates, Akira Shuichiro. You mentally ran through everything you knew about him: he was in love with Suzuki, as were most guys in your class, he was a pretty decent pitcher, and his studies weren't exactly his top priorities.

"Akira, hi," you said.

"Lucky!" he said, letting out a relieved breath. "I thought I'd grabbed the wrong girl by mistake."

Most of Yamamoto's teammates knew you only through school, but you never really spoke to them unless it was necessary. That wasn't to say that they were rude—the boys just weren't your typical crowd.

Akira dragged his fingers over his scalp. "What's up?"

"Um, nothing much," you replied, unsure whether or not to act polite or try to hurry up the conversation. You had to walk across half the school to reach your destination, and you didn't want to risk being tardy. There was always the added plus of running into Hibari, and that was something you did not want to deal with.

"Is Yamamoto-san around?"

You shook your head and took a step back, allowing his hand to fall from your shoulder. He realized his touch had lingered, and he gave you a hasty apology, which you waved off. "Listen, Akira, I've really got to get a move on, so—"

"Right, right! Sorry," he said again. "I just wanted to ask you something."

You waited, and when he only looked at you with sparkling green eyes, you motioned for him to continue.

"Since the baseball season's coming to a close and everything, we're having an end-of-the-year party this weekend. It's gonna be at my place."

Every year, the baseball team and club members got together for a final party for the end of the season. In the past, rumors had been spoken about wild, head-banging parties with liquor and fancy food. The upperclassmen knew how to have a party. Judging based off this year's members, you were almost certain the party wouldn't be as crazy.

"It's gonna be guys mostly, but a few of us will be bringing in our girlfriends. You wanna come?"

Was he asking you out to a party? You liked Akira enough, for he was sociable and easy to talk to, but you hadn't seen it coming. How rude would it be if you turned him down? _Oh, and to think that Yama-kun and I just resolved our problems…_

"Wait, sorry," he said, as you opened your mouth to speak. "Don't get the wrong idea, (y/n)-san. I mean, you're cool and all. But I'm not asking you out or anything." He laughed at your expression; your relief must've showed. "I'm just asking on Yamamoto-san's behalf. After all, you're his good friend."

Friend, friend, friend. Yes, you were Yamamoto's friend. And the raven-haired teen had made it clear that he didn't want to progress any further than that. "Hmm, I don't know," you said, pursing your lips in thought. "Parties aren't really my thing…"

"Come on, it'll be loads of fun, I promise," Akira said.

"Well, is Yama-kun going?"

"Yeah, man, of course! He's definitely showing up. He's our star baseball player, after all!"

A party seemed like a nice change of pace. You weren't planning to do much this weekend; snow was on the horizon, so you were thinking about hitting the mall for some cute boots and a new fur parka. And when was the last time you'd gone to a party? "Maybe I might…"

"We all assumed you would, seeing as your dad's the coach and all. He's going to be there, too, by the way."

Your smile vanished, and you tried not to scowl when you said, "Oh, he is? In that case, I don't think I'll attend."

"Huh? Why not?" Akira looked genuinely confused. "Did you and your dad have a falling-out or something?"

"You could say that," you muttered. There was a good chance that alcohol would be at the party, and your father wouldn't think twice about drowning a shot or fifteen. He would become a raging, drunken monster, and you didn't want to be in his sight when he did.

Oh, but Yamamoto was attending. If your father spotted him amid his sea of red, there was no telling _what_ he'd do…

You would have to persuade Yamamoto not to go. It was much too dangerous. You didn't want anything terrible to happen, and if he went, it was bound to.

You tried for an apologetic smile as you turned back around. "Maybe next year, I'll come, okay, Akira? I've got to get to class now; have fun this weekend!"

"Yeah, sure! Thanks, (y/n)-san! It's gonna be a blast!" he said, waving as you hurried away.


	51. Altered

_"…but your state of mind will be altered…so let me touch you without touching you, telekinesis…" _

* * *

So the two of you had made up. Finally. Everything was all right between you and him. It was a land of milk and honey once more.

Yamamoto had admitted his love to you.

But he had managed to hide it behind the ersatz illusion of friendship.

So you were still in the dark about the whole thing. For now, at least.

Actually, to be quite honest, he was okay with the situation as it stood. Friendship was better than anger. Friendship was better than frustrated silence. Even though there wasn't a given chance for him to fulfill his desires, his fantasies, all of which involved you, he would live.

He was walking alongside you to Tsuna's house. He was headed there for some Vongola business, one that required the attendance of all possible Guardians. You were on your way to a girlfriend's house to work on a project, and since she just happened to live a little past Tsuna's home, you had joined Yamamoto on his walk.

Being a part of the Vongola was great, and Yamamoto loved it as much as he loved baseball, but at the moment he was really annoyed with a certain Arcobaleno. Seeing as everything was cool now, Yamamoto had been looking forward to a night in which you slept in his arms, unaware of his feelings as always. The chance to just hold you was tantalizing.

And that chance was slipping through his fingers, all because of Reborn's order of business. To be more specific, the home tutor had planned a training session, one that required the three of them—Tsuna, Gokudera, and Yamamoto—to stay at the former's house for the night. All the Guardians were then going on a trip to Kokuyo Land for some rigorous work outs, so they would be missing school.

As much fun as the training session was going to be, Yamamoto didn't want to attend. He wanted to be with you.

No more than twenty words had been spoken throughout the duration of the walk. While the mood wasn't awkward, it was tense and rather uncomfortable. It was as though you didn't know what to say; and he couldn't blame you, because he was on the same page.

He stole a glance over at you. You were walking at an easy pace, moving gracefully, almost like you were walking on air instead of the bumpy concrete. Thick textbooks and stuffed folders were crammed underneath one slender arm, and you struggled to hold them to your chest. When he had offered to carry them for you, you had politely declined, saying something about how just because you were a girl didn't mean that you weren't capable of handling your own things.

He watched you gently gnaw on your bottom lip, wishing he could have a bite or two himself. Every little thing you did drew him, like a moth to a flame. Even the little things, like the angling of your head when you spoke, the quirky smile that went right along with your tongue-in-cheek answers, the way you tucked stray wisps of hair behind your ear.

He must have stared too long, because you noticed his gaze and met it with your own. Startled, Yamamoto whipped his head back around. His cheeks burned.

"Is there something on my face?" you mused aloud, touching your cheek.

"No, that's not it," he said, with a quick shake of his head. Your brow wrinkled in confusion, but he didn't bother elaborating, and you let it slide after a moment.

He released an inaudible sigh of relief when you faced front again and continued to walk. Carelessness was getting the best of him. He was aware of the fact that his gazes were quickly turning from innocent and random to lingering and intimate. It was one thing for his eyes to be open and honest. It was another thing for them to speak volumes.

"So, I ran into Akira today," you said suddenly.

"Yeah?" He directed his attention to you. It was a reason—an excuse—to look at you, and he was all for it. _Hahaha, this is what I've become,_ he teased himself silently. He had to remind himself that friendship was the way to go. Even if it wasn't the way he wanted to go.

"He said something about there being a baseball party this weekend?"

"Oh, right. It's gonna be at his place. All the club and team members are going to be there."

Your pace slowed, and you shifted toward him. "Akira also said that there will be alcohol."

Yamamoto tried to decipher the concern in your (e/c) irises. Were you worried he was going to drink the foul liquid? From lack of experience, he wasn't exactly sure how great he could hold his liquor, but it wasn't like he was going to have some.

"And because my father is the coach," you continued, "he's going to be there as well."

All at once, Yamamoto understood. There was the possible chance—or was it, in fact, inevitable? —of your father becoming drunk. And if the man happened to spot Yamamoto…

His breath caught. He wasn't looking forward to another beating. If the situation arose, he would have to defend himself, unlike his performance the last time. He had long since vowed never to be caught unprepared again.

"Please don't go, Yama-kun," you said, and you stopped walking altogether to stare him down with wide, haunting eyes. "You don't know what he will do to you. The party is a terrible disaster waiting to happen…"

Just to stop that pained look from tainting your face any longer, he would have agreed on the spot to not attend the party. Why go when you would worry? It wasn't worth it. But baseball was a passion of his, and he couldn't just leave his friends hanging; they were all counting on him to show up.

Yamamoto really hated himself in that moment. "(Y/n), I'm sorry, but I kind of have to go."

A weak "No," left your mouth in a sort of gasped breath. It cut him to the core; really, it did. When you searched his eyes for something, he made sure to hide all doubts away, and he gave you absolute conviction of his choice.

"I have to go," he repeated, softly but firmly.

"All right," you sighed, after a minute. Your tone was slightly exasperated, but knowing, like you had expected this outcome. "I won't be joining you, since I was planning on hitting the mall anyway. _But,_" you added in a warning tone, holding a finger up to stop him from smiling any further. "You have to promise that you'll stay away from the alcohol. And when my father himself becomes enamored, you have to stay away from that, too."

He nodded, smiling with raised eyebrows. "Okay."

"And you can't get into any sort of fight with him, and you can't say or do anything that suggests you are picking a fight." You're ticking the points off on your fingers. "You're not allowed to converse with him, you hear? You can't even say one word."

"Okay," Yamamoto said again. He was really pushing the conversational envelope there.

"_And_ I don't care _what_ he says about me, you can't attack him for my sake. Even if he calls me a whore or a bitch, which I'm one-hundred percent certain he will."

And guess what Yamamoto said? "Okay."

"Plus, I heard Suzuki's going, too, so you can't talk to her, either—"

With a laugh, Yamamoto slapped one hand over your mouth gently, to keep you from saying anything more. "I promise I will behave myself," he said, grinning as you struggled to lift his hand. Your concern was as endearing as it was cute, and he was almost glad you had your panties in a bunch for him.

"You promise?" you said, your words muffled by his palm. Your lips brushed against his callused skin when you spoke, sending aberrant chills up his forearm.

"Promise," he said, and for good measure, he ruffled your hair. You ducked away, giggling.


	52. Barely Breathing

_"I'm still alive, but I'm barely breathing. Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in…" _

* * *

It was Saturday. The baseball party at Akira's was tonight. Originally, you had planned to go shopping when Yamamoto was out, but you checked in with your stores and found that they'd all be near closing time during then. So you had decided to go shopping after lunchtime, and Yamamoto, ever the perfect gentleman, accompanied you.

In the past, hanging out with Yamamoto had always been fun. Especially when the two of you had been at the mall. The two of you would go window-shopping for a while, until you found something you liked. When you spent the longest time in the dressing rooms, trying on outfit after outfit, Yamamoto waited nearby. He would always give you his most honest opinion on your selection.

After a couple of stores, you went to the food court for a quick snack. You ended up ordering an hot fudge sundae, and Yamamoto took a Western-styled burger. You made easy conversation with him—funny, considering how you'd only made up two days prior. It was almost as though both of you had wanted the easy comfort that usually came when graced with the other's presence.

"I kind of feel like I'm being watched," Yamamoto said, as he chased down a mouthful of burger with cola. Then he laughed. "I must be paranoid, huh?"

"Not true," you replied, taking a glance over his shoulder. "You _are_ being watched."

His expression darkened a fraction. "Who is—," he started, wrenching his torso around to glare behind him, but you stopped him with a hand to his muscular forearm.

"It's just a bunch of women. They're all admiring how totally sexy you look."

Yamamoto's look disappeared, easing into something more pleasant. Although you couldn't help but think his voice was slightly agonized when he said, "Yeah? You think so?"

"I _know_ so." You were losing the certainty of the statement. And the atmosphere between the two of you was becoming tense, awkward again. He really did look sexy in the moss green sweater he wore over a white collared dress shirt, and his faded blue jeans hugged the muscles in his thighs and calves.

You suddenly had the urge to lean across the table and kiss him—partially because of a white-hot desire flowing through your veins, and partially because of your jealousy. Yamamoto was yours and yours alone. The women around you couldn't have him, because he was yours…

_Except that he's not. What are you, dumb? Can't you remember anything? He wants to be friends._

But, hold on. Did he really want to remain friends, or had you just assumed that when he'd written _I love you_, he had written it as your childhood friend?

You didn't want to think anymore. Your head was hurting, almost like it would burst any moment. Quickly you got to your feet, tugging Yamamoto up as well. "Come on," you said, offering him a smile even when your lips refused to curve correctly. "I've still got to look for boots and new parka."

"Mmm'kay." You didn't want to believe that he sounded wistful, longing, even. He was smiling back at you, but his eyes told you otherwise. _We both still have secrets,_ you realized with a jolt.

You eventually did buy a nice (f/c) fur parka, and matching boots that were absolutely adorable. Yamamoto stopped in a sporting goods store to grab a local baseball team cap. "For Akira," he explained. "He's crazy about the team."

By the time you got home, there was enough time for Yamamoto to take a quick shower. He had an hour or so before the party. You lay on his bed, listening to the running water as you flipped aimlessly though a pop magazine. You were planning out your evening ahead. Maybe you'd watch a movie, or relax in a bubble bath. You hadn't had such a luxury in a long time.

The water abruptly stopped, and Yamamoto stepped out a few seconds later, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. They barely clung to his skin, threatening to fall each time he took a step. Yet he moved confidently, like he knew they would stay in place.

God, he looked so delicious. So scrumptious. So yum. You literally licked your lips as Yamamoto strode over to his closet. All that baseball and swords training on the side had really chiseled his body to perfection. What you wouldn't give to run your hands down his shoulders, chest, back…

_And that ass…_

He selected a light blue collared shirt, dark jeans, and a fitted black cardigan. Honestly, you didn't know how he made everything he wore so freaking hot. As he rummaged around for a coat, he dragged his fingers through his hair; and you watched almost hungrily as he bent forward to pick the coat up from the closet floor, causing his jeans to stretch tightly over his ass…

That almost killed you there. You had to hold yourself from jumping him.

You had to distract yourself. "Yama-kun, you remember what you promised me?" you said, your voice strained and dusky with desire. You swore you saw Yamamoto shudder, a slight tremble in his broad shoulders.

He moved to the dresser, watching you through the mirror as he buttoned up his coat. "I haven't forgotten. I'm to stay away from the alcohol; I can't talk to your father or fight him, no matter what he says; and I'm not to speak a word to Suzuki," he recited, with a teasing smile. "I'm fine with the first three, but I'm not sure if I can prevent the last one. She'll hunt me out, you know."

"That's because she's a little…" You cut yourself off. To be honest, it wasn't entirely Suzuki's fault. She hadn't always been that way, but most guys succumbed to her body. And it kept spiraling until she had become perfectly confident of her sex appeal.

"Hey. Are you jealous?"

"What's it to you?" you shot back, annoyed by his smirk. With a huff, you looked to the side, and soon after, the bed dipped with the addition of Yamamoto's weight.

"Don't be. I promised I wouldn't talk to her, didn't I? And if she does find me, I'll keep it brief." When you didn't turn his way, Yamamoto sighed and reached out to tweak your nose, eliciting a giggle from you. "Okay?"

"Al'right," you murmured softly. His eyes locked onto yours; their caramel was so dark and familiar that you felt like it would swallow you whole. "Now get out of here."

He stood from the bed. "I guess I'm off, then." He patted your head somewhat fondly and headed for the door. "See you later, (y/n)."

"Have fun," you called after him. There was the craziest sinking feeling in your gut, like somewhat was going to go terribly wrong. But nothing would happen. So then why did you feel a terrible dread washing over your body, chilling your bones and making you hurt?

"Stay safe," was his reply.


	53. Everything at Stake

_"…put everything we've got in stake, let's worry about today, and put tomorrow in a bottle…"_

* * *

Yamamoto wasn't surprised to see that the party was already well under way when Akira's house came into view. The lights were all on, illuminating the outline of the house. Music thumped faintly from within, a pounding beat and a bass. A couple of cars were parked in the wide driveway and spilled out onto the street, but most of the people attending lived within walking distance.

He joined the stream of partygoers and somehow made his way through the front door in one piece. It was a symphony of hip-hop music, laughter, the clinking of glasses, and voices melding together. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting—although the lights were on full-power, the mass of human flesh sort of blocked the radiance.

As he wandered around looking for the host, numerous hands clapped his back and shoulders in greeting. He made sure to give each person a quick smile, exchanging only quick pleasantries before going on his way again.

He found Akira in the spacious living room, messing around with the stereo's sound system. The room was serving as a makeshift dance floor, and already there were couples rolling and grinding into one another in time to the music. There were more girls than Yamamoto had expected to show up; usually, only a handful bothered to come, for the prospect of being around so much baseball-fueled testosterone scared them. But the crowd was equally mixed between the genders this time.

"Akira," he said, knocking his teammate lightly on the head.

The boy spun with a friendly smile. "Yo! Takeshi-san. Glad you could make it." He bumped his fist to Yamamoto's in a greeting.

"Here." Yamamoto handed him the cap, wrapped hastily in paper.

Akira took the parcel, ripped open the paper, and whistled when he saw the cap. "Nice! Hey, man, thanks. It wasn't necessary, though." He set it on top his head and then stepped back, surveying the crowd before him with a satisfied look. "It hasn't been an hour, and already everyone's enjoying themselves."

"Yeah. Kind of sad to know this is the last time we'll be together as a team."

"All good things come to an end, right? Plus, there's the spring season."

"That's true." Yamamoto laughed.

Akira joined in. "Hey, well, help yourself," he said. "We've got the music here for the dancer folks, and all the other rooms are free to use if you can't handle the beats. There's a nice spread in the kitchen. That's where the alcohol is stashed, by the way." Then he looked at Yamamoto. "Is (y/n)-san with you?"

"No, she didn't show."

"Oh." Akira nodded knowingly. "Because her dad's here, right?"

Surprise overtook Yamamoto, and he wasn't quick enough to hide it behind a grin. Seeing his astonished look, Akira said, "Well, I asked her about it the other day. Apparently they had some sort of falling-out?"

"Yeah. Uh, yeah, that's it." Well, it was better than the truth. "Anyway, I better leave you alone. See you around, Akira."

"Enjoy yourself, Takeshi-san," replied the boy, with another fist-bump. Both exploded it backwards, and then Akira turned back to messing with the sound system while Yamamoto merged with the crowd.

Practically everyone said hi to him as he looked for his teammates, hoping to say a few parting words with them. Of course, as this was a baseball party, Yamamoto was the unwritten star. He was Namimori's All-Star Player. There was a mutual adoration for him in everyone.

An hour or so passed by before his stomach began to growl in annoyance, demanding it be filled. He tried to ignore it, but his stomach got even louder. Soon, pangs of hunger were eating at his abdomen. Damn, hunger this sharp didn't usually come so quick, did it?

Although he didn't want to, he knew he would have to eat something, quick. And so Yamamoto set off for the kitchen.

Akira had been right; the spread i_was_/i pretty spectacular. It ranged from mouth-watering appetizers to filling dinner entrées to quick grab-and-go snacks. And the beverages were water, soda, and alcohol. Lots of it. There was a keg, along with tall bottles of vodka and wine.

There were quite a few people hanging out in the kitchen, the reason obviously to get away from the noise and stay close to the food, the beer. A group of girls milled around in the back, giggling and tittering amongst themselves as they polished off chocolate fruit cocktails. They were exiting as Yamamoto stepped inside, and he nodded with a smile as they all squealed out hellos.

The girl in the back lingered for a moment, hesitation in her face and in her posture. Her luscious black curls had been straightened, and Yamamoto would've never recognized her, if not for her striking blue eyes and the way she swung her hips. "Suzuki," he said involuntarily.

She bit her lip. "Um, h-hi," she squeaked, going red in the face. "Yamamoto-kun. It's g-good to s-see you." Her voice broke, and though she quickly looked away, Yamamoto caught her eyes misting over.

He remembered his promise to you, but to have her cry… "What," he started, but Suzuki shook her head furiously. She met his eyes head-on, her face set in determination.

"I'm not sad or anything. I'm not crying." A single tear traced its way down her cheek.

He had expected her to flirt with him, not to get all vulnerable and soft. And he didn't like seeing her this way. But she was strong. "Right. I suppose you got rained on."

A smile flitted across her face, and he answered it with one of his own. "Yeah. I'd forgotten my umbrella," she said, and she reached out to touch his hand. "Catch you around." Then she turned and followed her friends.

Yamamoto was slightly stunned for a moment, but he shook it off. His initial hunger had worn off, proving to be false, which he had assumed from the speed. But he was now parched; his mouth was dry as cotton, and he could barely swallow without flinching from the razor-like glass feeling.

Soda generally made him nauseous, and he wasn't going to have any alcohol. So water it was.

He'd grabbed a plastic cup and was heading for the gallon water pitcher when someone snickered behind him. "What, can't hold your liquor?"

That dry voice, thick yet somehow syrupy. "Coach," Yamamoto muttered, more to himself than addressing the man.

And (l/n) was standing there, holding a cup of beer in each hand. "Takeshi," he said gruffly, his gunmetal eyes holding quick to Yamamoto's. "Didn't think you would come."

"Why's that, Coach? I wouldn't miss this party for the world."

He only snorted. "Did the bitch come with you?" he asked next, and there was a quick spark of anger in Yamamoto's chest before he almost laughed aloud. You had predicted you would be called a bitch by him. Seems you'd been right.

"No, she had something better to do." He was only half-lying, although he wasn't sure exactly what you were doing back home. But anything was better than _this._

Did the older man almost look disappointed by Yamamoto's reaction? He smiled then, revealing a smile of yellowed teeth and stained gums. "You can't drink that," he said.

"What? This? You mean, I can't drink my water?"

"That's right. You've gotta have a cup of beer." (L/n)'s smile was widening. "It's an old tradition."

His smile had Yamamoto on high alert. But the raven-haired boy was more wary of the look in (l/n)'s eyes: hard, flat, they were completely empty, save for an ugly glimmer. He checked the man for signs of intoxication and found none; there was a higher chance that he wasn't lying about the tradition.

But there was no way Yamamoto was drinking beer. He'd promised you. And besides, he had seen and experienced firsthand the consequences of alcohol…

"Sorry. I'm not much of a drinker." He didn't drink at all. And he wasn't about to change.

"Scared?" taunted (l/n). "It's just beer. It won't hurt you, maggot."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Yamamoto turned back to the water pitcher and went to pour when he heard the man step closer. There was something menacing in his movement. And his breathing had suddenly become heavier, like he was on the edge of exploding—

"It's just a fucking cup," (L/n) snarled. "Drink it or the bitch'll pay."

Yamamoto tensed. He couldn't drink the beer; he couldn't and he wouldn't. But it was, after all, just one cup—and (l/n)'s voice had not been lying when he'd threatened about you—

No way in hell was Yamamoto going to risk your safety, all over a few sips of alcohol.

"Fine." Yamamoto spun around and snatched a cup from (l/n)'s meaty hand. Then, keeping his eyes locked onto your father's, he chanced a sip. Nasty. He took another sip, longer this time, determined to finish the cup off in three swallows. It was hot and acrid against his taste buds, and he gagged as it went down.

But somehow, he drained the cup. He all but threw it back toward (l/n), who was smiling strangely. He could still taste the liquid fire at the back of his throat, and it was absolutely disgusting. He wanted to puke.

"You just saved her ass. It's amazing what love can do," (L/n) mused, and his smile was all lethality around the edges. "Have a nice winter, maggot. I can't wait 'til baseball starts up again." With a cackling laugh, he was gone.

As long as you were unharmed. Yamamoto would do anything for you, and he knew it; (L/n) knew it; he was pretty sure you knew it, in a way at least.

Even though he had just drunk, he was still parched. His hands shook as he reached for another cup, intending to pour himself a glass of water, but the amber-colored bottles in the corner caught his eye.

His head hurt. His stomach was in knots. But he felt pleasant, somehow. The world was slowing down around him. The colors were intensifying, then softening, and it felt nice—it looked nice—it _was_ nice.

Everyone else was drinking it. Why not?

_Just another cup,_ he said to himself. _Just one more._


	54. Flame

_"Where there is desire, there is going to be a flame. Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned …" _

* * *

The house was still and silent. There was no one in it but you. Tsuyoshi was at an old buddy's for the night, and his son was at the baseball party. You weren't sure what time to expect Yamamoto's return, but he probably wouldn't come back until morning.

You had gone back to your house to collect some more clothes and other female necessities that a house belonging to a father-and-son pair didn't have. Your house had been pretty clean. The trash had been picked up from the floors, the dishes and dirty silverware had been washed, and the food had been replaced from spoiled and expired to edible. Either (l/n) had done it himself or he'd hired some cleaners to do it for him.

There had been no signs of someone having gone into your room for some tidying up, however. It was exactly the way you'd left it. You ended up rifling through your closet, proceeding then to cram practically every article of clothing you owned into a large suitcase. After grabbing those female necessities—makeup, hair accessories, shampoo, conditioner, tampons, perfume, etc—you got the hell out from there. (L/n) could have returned at any second, and you didn't want to run into him.

So there you were, lounging about in the sushi bar with nothing to do. You'd finished studying for an upcoming test, and your homework was out of the way. You had done your nails a metallic (f/c). You had flipped through three gossip tabloids before giving up.

There was nothing to do.

Boredom was something you absolutely could not stand. It crept up on your out of nowhere! You'd been perfectly fine ten minutes ago as you'd read about the newest J-Pop groups, but now…

Not for the first time, you wished Yamamoto had stayed to keep you company. You were never bored with him around. Your emotions became extreme whenever you were in his presence—so extreme, they were confusing.

In fact, your whole relationship with him was confusing. You could go into details, but they only stressed you out.

You had given up pretending as though you had no feelings for him. The longer you told yourself that he was just a friend, the stronger the feelings got until they overwhelmed you.

With a sigh, you plopped your head down onto your arms. "This is really messed up," you murmured to yourself. "I'm not so sure what it all means, but it's messed up and I can't handle it anymore…"

You got no response, of course, and when that only served to frustrate you more, you stood up to distance yourself from it all.

_Knock, knock._

You tensed involuntarily. It was early—Yamamoto had only left about three hours and some minutes ago. You weren't expecting anyone. So then who…?

With cautious steps, you made your way to the front door. Stole a peek out the window at whoever it was. Then opened the door, aware of the confusion written over your face.

Yamamoto grinned at you. "You don't look happy to see me," he remarked.

"No, no, that's not it," you said.

"Then what's the matter?"

"I just wasn't expecting you back so early, that's all…"

There was something off. He didn't seem like his usual self. You wondered if you were really talking to Yamamoto. _Maybe it's a Mist illusion_, you thought to yourself. You'd only conversed with the Vongola Mist Guardian once before, and the dual-eyed man had come off on you as mischievous.

No. This was your Yamamoto Takeshi. You knew that much.

There was a light in his eyes. His grin seemed roguish, wilder. He looked sort of harried.

_What_ was it about him that was bothering you, then…?

"That party must've been a lot of fun, huh?" you commented.

"Oh, yeah, it was loads of fun. Glad I went." He continued grinning down at you. He'd always been a few inches taller than you, and suddenly the height difference seemed intimidating. He smelled like night, a scent of burning leaves and the promise of snow.

You couldn't bring yourself to answer his grin with a smile of your own. There was some sort of challenge in the way he was staring you down. Your pulse quickened.

He shifted his weight. "(Y/n), are you going to let me inside?" he asked. "It's kind of cold out here." It was a bit chilly, and he shifted again, rubbing the arms of his coat. With a start, you noticed that the buttons weren't done correctly. He'd gotten the first two right, but the rest of them were a mess, sloppily shoved into loops meant for different buttons.

For as long as you could remember, he had always been coordinated, if not neat.

Something was definitely wrong.

You continued to stand in the doorway, blocking his entry, although you knew if he wanted to, he could enter simply by brushing you aside. He wasn't going to do that, was he? Yamamoto would never…

"Is there a problem?" He sounded concerned enough, but when you searched his eyes for signs, there were none.

"Yama-kun," you began, "I think that—"

"I love you."

And there it was, the three words you wanted to hear come from his lips but didn't. They meant everything. Yet they meant nothing. Was it possible for those three magic words to hold such dynamic meanings?

You couldn't look at him anymore. "Yes, I know." Your voice was a whisper, and you struggled to raise it so he could hear you. "Yes, I know," you repeated. "You've told me. And I love you, too…you're my best friend, after all—"

"No. You don't understand, (y/n)." Yamamoto's full gaze was on you now, and you thought you would drown in the depths of his caramel irises. They were slit, ever so slightly.

When he spoke again, your world promptly shattered.

"_I love you._"

* * *

**LinChungIsHot: **Happy New Year to you all! Thank you for sticking with me thus far, I am very grateful!

**LinChungIsHot**: Please don't expect any updates from me for the next two weeks or so. Midterms are approaching quickly, and I have no time to write at all. I need to study...I've been putting it off, but if I do that any longer, it will really cost me.

**LinChungIsHot: **But don't worry, I'll be sure to write down ideas for the next further chapters. Please, enjoy, and reviews are always welcome, of course. Show your love! Hugs and kisses, everyone!


	55. Ain't Real

_"You are the girl of my dreams. I know this love ain't real, but make-believe is good enough for me…" _

* * *

"_I love you._"

The words hung in the air between you for the longest time. You could only stare at him, unable to speak. Your heart was beating eccentrically. You felt something in your throat. A ball of wax. So thick, you could barely swallow. Barely breathe.

He had written those same words in the note from history class. When you'd seen them in longhand, you'd gotten a jolt. But it hadn't meant that he really loved you; he had only been a friend telling you how much you meant to him.

Or had it?

You realized that the whole friend aspect of the note had been your conclusion. You had wanted to believe that he had no interest in pursuing a romance with you. You wanted to believe that so badly because the pain of knowing he loved you was much worse than no love at all.

"Yama-kun…" It fell from your lips before you even had time to stop yourself. His eyes swung your way. They were like snowstorms—clear and pale and full of depth. You could easily lose yourself in them.

You looked away so he couldn't read your expression, and that was when you caught it.

The thick, cloying scent of something that had become poison to you.

You swung around to face him, horror in both your expression and your voice. "You're drunk."

"(Y/n)—"

"You're drunk," you repeated, and your initial horror blossomed into anger. Your anger spiraled upward into full-out fury. The beer was heavy on his breath. You didn't know how you could've missed it.

Yamamoto started to say something, but you cut him off before he could even attempt to explain.

"You promised you'd stay away from the alcohol!" you cried. "You promised me, Yama-kun! I can't believe you! You _know_ how much I hate alcohol!" Your voice broke as a sob forced its way out from your mouth as a harsh gasp. "After all the things he's done to me, you still…"

He was silent for a moment, watching you with those probing ambers. Then he reached out and touched your shoulder. "I didn't mean to get drunk," he said, and for a moment, he could've passed as sober. "But I only drank for your benefit—"

You yanked backward from his touch, like he'd come fresh from the oven. "No! That's ridiculous! You don't _drink_ for someone else's benefit, and certainly not mine!" Your emotions were a mess now, and you didn't know what to feel. You felt everything. And you felt nothing but a deep, wallowing despair.

And a rage was exploding in your heart, burning your limbs.

Then you realized something else. "You say you love me, yet you're drunk," you murmured, suddenly unable to speak anymore. "Are your words just a lie? Are they something you won't even remember when you wake up tomorrow morning?"

About a million colors passed over his face. He began by sighing, and that turned into a laugh. His brow furrowed for a second, and then his eyes seemed to cloud, like he might cry. But his voice was steady when he said, "No. I wasn't lying when I said that. I mean it, (y/n). I love you and I always have."

You didn't doubt his words. There was too much truth, too much dripping honesty, and it hurt. But the anger was easier to hold on to—and you were pissed.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cold and direct. "I don't love you, Yama-kun."

Because he was Yamamoto, you expected a quiet and peaceful reaction.

But when he smiled, you felt a clench of fear in your stomach. The dim light being cast from inside the house made his smile look wicked, like it had been cut into his face with a knife. His smile wasn't friendly; it was a smile that smelled trouble. With a promise.

"You're lying," he said lowly.

"I'm not," you responded quickly.

"I may be drunk right now, but that doesn't mean I can't tell apart fact from fiction." He was looking at you dead on, delightfully shameless, and his words brought yet another cold realization. You'd seen what beer could do to a person. It brought out the worse in them.

Like your father, would Yamamoto fall prey to its embrace?

He stepped closer to you. You backed up against the door, suddenly afraid. You knew of Yamamoto's strength, and the thought of what he could do to you scared you more than your father's intoxication ever had.

His hand shot forward.

You flinched hard, eyes clenching shut in terror.

But he didn't hit you. Instead, Yamamoto ran his finger down your cheek, tracing the outline of your lips. His touch was so light, you could barely feel it. It took the bones out of your legs.

You kept your eyes closed and didn't move as his fingertips brushed the line of your jaw, sending delightful shivers throughout your body. You realized your head had fallen back.

"You're so tense," he murmured, and you heard the sadness in his voice. "I would never hurt you, (y/n)."

He had you completely cornered against the door. There was nowhere for you to run. You couldn't move, and even if you wanted to, you found that you wouldn't have. As Yamamoto brushed his thumb gently over the corner of your lips, you fought hard to stay silent. You felt the touch everywhere: from your fingertips to your throat to the heat in between your legs.

You didn't want this—if he kept touching you like that, touching you like you were something made from glass, you would go insane. Your anger was gone, replaced by desire. And it was the craziest thing, but your fingers itched to run themselves through his hair, to stroke the plane of his back and to dig into his back—

And then he leaned forward. His mouth slid against yours. You'd meant to gasp, to cry out, but your lips opened, soft and yielding. Your teeth clinked with his and you tasted every dark thought he'd ever had.

Electricity coursed your veins instead of blood. You jerked backward, breaking the kiss.

"Stop," you gasped. "Yama-kun—"

"I love you," he said again, and the words rolled from his lips like a promise, desire thick upon layer after layer.

His hands slid down your neck, searing hot. He grasped your shoulder with one hand, and, using the other, he gently tipped your head back. His lips came against you so hard that he stopped whatever you'd been about to say from coming out. Ever so slowly, his hands dropped down, skimming your arms, and they came to rest at the small of your back. Little shivers of pleasure shot through you.

Gone was your resistance. Gone was your anger. You couldn't think of anything beyond the way he kissed you, softly but firmly. He held you carefully, and you loved that. You knew you shouldn't have been responding, but you couldn't help yourself as you answered to the demand of his teeth and tongue with your own.

Yamamoto pulled away that time. You opened your eyes to look at him. His expression made you want to cry, laugh, run, dance, and moan, all at the same time.

"Yama-kun," you began.

He cut you off again. "Can I come inside?" he asked, with a hint of a crooked grin. "It's freezing out here."

You wanted to kiss him again. The desire rushed through your body, leaving you breathless. Oh, you badly wanted to kiss him, to feel his skin against yours, to open up entirely to him—

"Yes," you whispered, and even as you spoke the words, you knew you'd regret them. "Come inside."


	56. Taste

_"…all I want is the taste that your lips allow." _

* * *

You stepped aside, and Yamamoto followed you, shutting the door behind him. He slipped out of his shoes and began unbuttoning his coat, his fingers surprisingly steady for someone drunk. His fingers kept moving across the buttons even as he lifted his head, staring at you with unreadable caramel irises.

You couldn't look at him, so you angled your body away slightly, keeping your gaze trained on the floor. His stare alone made you feel as though you were falling. You felt giddy, as though you'd drunk from some magical cup of joy.

You were still mad at him for drinking alcohol, despite the terrible experience you'd both had with it, but your emotions were different now. You didn't want to scream at him anymore—instead, you wanted to throw yourself at him and kiss him wildly. You didn't want to slap him—you wanted to reach out and stroke his cheek, his hair, his skin.

Was this love? Was this how it felt like? It made you feel dizzy, like you were crazy, but you kind of liked it. The language of love was complicated, then: one devoured another with their eyes, one drank in the sight of another, and one swallowed the other whole. Love was sustenance, broken down and beating through one's bloodstream.

Yes, you were coming to the understanding that you _were_ in love with him, just as madly as he had been with you. Just as he had been, you realized with a gasp, all this time.

The boy in question shrugged off his coat. "(Y/n)," he said, but you didn't want to hear what he had to say. You whirled around and quickly headed back to the sushi bar, scrambling to make sense of the whole thing.

_All this time_—_he's been in love with me all this time_—_it was in his kiss, his touch, his eyes_—_how could I have not seen it?_

You heard footsteps behind you; Yamamoto had followed you into the sushi bar, and he stood hesitantly just outside the doorway, waiting to see what you'd do.

"Yama-kun," you murmured slowly.

Over your shoulder, you met his eyes. "Everything my father's done to you—he took a bat to your stomach, he threw screwballs aimed directly at you—he's hurt you many, many times…_why_?"

"Why?" he echoed, sounding confused.

"Why didn't you do anything to stop him? Why did you put up with it?"

Yamamoto's brows furrowed, and he bit his lip hard, considering. The longer the silence stretched on, the more you were afraid to hear what his answer would be.

Then he said, "(Y/n), even though he's done all of that to me, he's still your father—"

It was true, of course, but that didn't mean you would accept it. "No, he's not!" you cried.

The expression the raven-haired teen wore was enough to break your heart. "And deep down somewhere," he continued, "because he's your father, you love him—"

"I don't! I never did! He's a bastard, and I hate him!"

"And I never tried to stop (l/n) because I knew if I hurt him, I'd be hurting you—"

Tears had welled up in your eyes. Everything was blurry now; Yamamoto was no more than a smear in your vision.

"And the only reason I keep putting up with it is because I love you."

You froze.

"I love you. More than I ever—" he broke off. "God. More than I probably should." He sort of choked out the last bit quickly, at the end, as if he hadn't meant to say it, as if it had just come out of nowhere.

You couldn't stand it anymore. You ran over to him, hooked your fingers through his belt loops, pulled him against you, and kissed him.

The kiss was a like a falling star, flame, ice. It was as pure as water from a snow-fed mountain spring and as sinful as a dance with the devil himself.

He'd been unprepared, and he staggered backward a step or two before catching himself with a hand to the wall. He fitted his palms to the curve of your hips; his knuckles brushed the skin of your navel. Heat and ice shot through you simultaneously.

You ran your fingers through his hair, reveling in the feel of it. Your body was pressed right against his, and it was almost hard to see the separation between the two. Acting on an impulse, you gently licked his upper lip; he shuddered as chills ran down his spine, and you smiled.

"Stop," Yamamoto whispered then. "(Y/n), stop."

You ignored him—you weren't letting him go. Not after all this. A heavy, warm feeling, like spilling honey, filled your body and slowed your thoughts. It felt _so_ good to kiss him, with no restraint or control on your feelings. After wanting him for so long, kissing him felt right. But you wanted more.

You nibbled his lip, and he moaned, jerking you against him tighter.

Then abruptly, he pushed you away.

"I can't do this," he muttered. "I can't be this close to you after wanting it for so long, only to have it all ripped away."

Raw desperation was evident in his voice, and you knew that with how cruel and unseeing you'd been toward his emotions these past few weeks, he had every right to be suspicious.

"But, Yama-kun," you said, and you reached out to touch his cheek. "I mean everything I've done."

He didn't meet your gaze, and for the longest time, you stood there, afraid he would shake his head and walk off. When he finally glanced up at you, there was a question in his eyes; he was giving you one last chance to back away.

Almost imperceptibly, you shook your head.

Something close to a smile flashed over his face. Yamamoto moved, slipping behind you, gently angling your shoulders so that you were facing him again. He slid a hand over your cheek, anchoring a finger behind your ear, and then took your lips in a captivating kiss that had you wondering where the hell he'd ever learned to kiss like _that_.

He walked backward, pulling you with him so that you stumbled. When his back hit the counter, he stopped.

Yamamoto lifted you onto the counter. Now your face was perfectly level with his. He fixed you with a dark, inviting smile, and you almost shivered at the intensity of it. You realized this moment had been dancing around the edge of your fantasies for several days now.

You scooted to the edge of the counter, your legs dangling one on either side of him. You noticed only now that somewhere in the midst of all the kissing, he'd taken off his sweater, and he wore only his dark jeans and dress shirt.

He took your hands in his gently, guiding them to his stomach. His eyes lowered, he pushed your hands up, over his abdomen and over his chest, and held them against his neck. Your palms tingled with the feel of his skin, smooth, warm. Even though your body was burning, you shivered, and his smile turned playful.

"Are you afraid of me, too?" he asked.

"Terrified," you replied honestly. You'd been swinging your legs, but now he grabbed hold of them and ran his hands up the seams of your jeans.

Then he spread his hands on the counter, just outside your hips. Tilting his head to one side, he moved closer, his partially unbuttoned shirt allowing you a splendid view. His scent overwhelmed you, leaving you light-headed.

His kiss held no restraint when his lips met yours. It was like rushing fire head on, and you gasped in surprise when his fingers grazed your thighs. Yamamoto quickly swallowed your gasp, his tongue meeting yours for a frenzied dance both had wanted for the longest time.

You slipped your hands underneath his shirt, uncertain whether or not he'd stop you. His eyes slid closed in pleasure as you ran your hands up his back. Experimentally, you dug a fingernail into the skin there, and you were savagely pleased when his breath stuttered against your mouth.

Yamamoto brushed your (h/c) locks off your shoulder, and he broke the kiss. You took the moment as a chance to catch your breath, but when he repositioned his lips at the junction where your shoulder met your neck, and he scraped his teeth there ever so slightly, you moaned.

His back shook gently as he chuckled. Yamamoto began to suck where his mouth was. It was a newfound sweet spot of yours, for little shocks of pleasure raced through your veins. Your head lolled back and you couldn't stop another loud moan from escaping your lips.

His fingers had been rubbing mindless circles onto your thighs, but now they walked up your waist to the hem of your shirt. When he grasped it and tugged it upward, you didn't stop him.

Soon he had your shirt off, exposing the lacy (f/c) bra underneath. Cool air feathered over your skin as he unclasped your bra with trembling hands. Once it was undone, once your bra had fallen to the floor, Yamamoto left your shoulder and slowly palmed one of your breasts with a callous hand.

You let out a surprised gasp, your eyes flying open. Thinking he had done something wrong, Yamamoto made to pull back, but you grabbed his wrist to stop him and motioned for him to take hold of the soft mound.

And he did, squeezing your breast gently. You grabbed his shoulder, breathed, "Harder," and when he complied, you rewarded him with another moan that darkened his eyes a fraction or ten. Emboldened, he flicked his thumb over your nipple, taking your other breast in his free hand and kneading it expertly.

He had you an incoherent mess now, unable to do anything but moan. There was something unbelievably sexy about watching him pleasure you, and if you could, you would've laughed at the lusty expression he wore.

"Takeshi," you panted, and that did a number of him, judging by the way he tensed ever so slightly and his mouth quirked up in the corner.

You didn't want to leave all the work to him, and with great effort, you moved forward and latched your teeth onto his earlobe. You rolled it like candy, sucking hard, and Yamamoto's deft hands faltered.

A smirk crossed over his lips. He was taking this as a challenge, and, giving you an effective smolder, he lowered his head and drew a breast into his mouth.

You completely froze, forgetting to nip his earlobe, and when he swirled his tongue teasingly, your shudder was near violent. Each shock he gave you was sweeter than the last, and when he pulled away from your chest, you were almost senseless with delight, no longer wanting to resist. You wanted to give yourself up to him completely.

You wrapped your legs around his narrow waist and tugged him closer, running your hands down his abdomen. His muscles jumped as you flicked your fingers across his skin.

Yamamoto's mouth was trailing lower now. He planted light butterfly kisses along your rib cage, to your navel, where he stopped to play with your bellybutton, eliciting giggles from you.

Then his mouth went even lower, and his fingers joined in, unsnapping the top button of your jeans.

"—stop."

The word was out of your mouth before you even had time to register it. Yamamoto obeyed, straightening up, his hands falling away, but you caught the disappointment flashing in his caramel eyes. _Why_ had you said that?! What was wrong with you?

"No, wait," you stammered, and to your horror, there were tears filling up in your eyes. You blinked hard to clear them. "I don't know why I—"

Yamamoto laughed. Not abruptly, not teasingly, but with a certain low desire. "(Y/n)," he said fondly, placing a large hand on top of your head. He patted you once. "It's okay to be scared. Don't worry about it." He was already untangling your legs from his waist.

"But I—"

"Next time, okay? We don't have to go all the way if you don't want to." His smile was promising, and though you were completely embarrassed for leading him on and then suddenly stopping him, you felt an answering grin curve on your lips. He slipped out of his partially-unbuttoned shirt, draping it over your shoulders.

"Actually," he added, "I don't feel so hot myself." He staggered backward, clutching the edge of the counter for balance, and you remembered that he was drunk. Funny, he'd been sober in his pleasuring only a moment ago.

"You're such an idiot," you growled, grasping his shoulders to steady him. "Why would you drink so much when you _know_ you don't drink, ever? How many cups did you have, anyway?"

"I lost track around six," Yamamoto said sheepishly.

"Jeez." You hopped off the counter, landing softly, and you tried not to notice when Yamamoto's eyes were drawn to the way your breasts bounced with the landing. "You'll have a massive hangover tomorrow."

"Sorry, sorry."

You hooked your arm with his and led him toward the living room. "Whatever. Just get some sleep." Even as you said the words, Yamamoto's eyes were closing, his head nodding forward.

Then you smiled and murmured, "I love you, too, Yama-kun," and as he lowered himself heavily onto the couch for some much-needed rest, he was grinning.


	57. Hollow in Me Now

_"…and every whisper, every sigh, eats away at this heart of mine. And there is a hollow in me now."_

* * *

Just as you had predicted, Yamamoto had a terrible hangover the next morning. He wasn't a drinker—never had he downed alcohol before—and it did not agree with his system.

You awoke to the sounds of terrible retching. Taking a look at his form hovering over the toilet, vomiting everything inside, you asked simply, "So, going to school today, Yama-kun?"

You left only when he'd stopped, after you helped him back over to the couch. You threw a blanket over his bare-chested form, and, acting on a maternal impulse, you brushed his limp hair. "Get some rest," you told him, "and don't try to eat anything, except for water. It'll all just come back up anyway."

"Don't see how Coach does this," he croaked, his voice raspy. At first, your father had succumbed to massive hangovers, but nowadays he got by on an aspirin.

"Be good," you said, patting his cheek, but when you stood up, Yamamoto's fingers encircled your wrist.

"Come home." His eyes were molten fire. "You have to come home, 'kay?"

You held his gaze for the longest time. Then you leaned forward, kissed his cheek. "I love you," was all you said, and his shoulders shook slightly in a silent chuckle as you walked out of the house.

The walk to Namimori High was a lonely one, and it gave you time to sort through your jumbled thoughts. With the feverish kisses last night and everything in between, you'd finally admitted your feelings to Yamamoto. The same feelings had been choking you for the last few weeks, ever since you'd agreed to Masao, and it was such a relief to have them out.

And it had become painfully clear just how much Yamamoto was in love with you. But that wasn't the worst part—what was, was that you'd never noticed until a couple hours ago. Just how blind had you been all this time?

Then your cheeks burned with the realization that you had been willing to completely give yourself up to Yamamoto last night. Had it not been a slip of your mouth, you wouldn't have stopped…

But damn. _Where_ had he learned to kiss like that?

You focused on your classes the rest of the day. Everything went by smoothly. You had no problems with anything, really. (L/n) hadn't been at school, either, so you wondered whether he had skipped or whether something had gone down at the party.

It wasn't until you were leaving the school when you got another huge shock.

You exited the school, clutching your books to your chest with one hand. Most of the kids were gone, so the front lawn was mostly empty, save for a few stragglers just lounging about on the school steps.

Someone called your name, and when you spun around, you saw two familiar faces: Tsuna and Gokudera.

"Hey," you said, with a wave.

"(Y/n)," said the brunette, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm so glad we found you."

Gokudera didn't say anything. He was strangely and uncharacteristically silent. Even though Tsuna was acting like himself, Gokudera's behavior worried you.

"What's up?" you asked the two.

"Wait, is Yamamoto not with you?" Tsuna glanced around, like he'd only just noticed the raven-haired male wasn't flanking your side.

You shook your head, telling the truth with a half-lie: "He got sick, so he's at home."

"Huh. That's weird. Anyways, (y/n), can we talk to you?"

There was an urgency beneath Tsuna's question, and his warm brown eyes hid something within their depths. You agreed, and the three of you headed to the park to talk.

The park was mostly deserted, except for a few children goofing around on the monkey bars. Tsuna took a seat at a bench. He patted the space next to him, motioning for you to sit, so you did. The silverette remained standing.

You had just put your books down when Tsuna suddenly blurted out, "(Y/n), we know about your father."

Every muscle in your body completely froze. You couldn't react. Then, quietly, you murmured, "How _much_ do you know?"

A moment in which the silence was evident ensued here. Shuffling around, Gokudera pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He lit one and lifted it to his mouth in a fluid motion, answering with, "He's a wild, uncontrollable alcoholic. He was near abusive with you. And he's beaten our baseball freak."

There were no words you could've said at that moment. You were absolutely shocked.

You should have been pissed at the two boys in front of you. A normal reaction would've been to scream at them, to cry. But instead, something cold and pleasant drenched your bones: _relief._

"How'd you find out?"

There was a huge look of apology on the Decimo's face. "Um, a little bit of Vongola Intuition," he said, "and also because of my dad."

"Iemitsu?"

"He discovered Yamamoto's injuries through Dr. Shamal. After a little searching around, he was able to find out about your father."

You were a little surprised that the head of CEDEF had gotten involved. He was a sneaky one, Iemitsu.

But before you could say anything, Tsuna leaned forward a bit and said softly, "(Y/n), I can't believe all you and Yamamoto have been through these last few weeks."

"Longer than that," you clarified in a whisper.

"You okay?" Gokudera grumbled gruffly. He wore a mask of irritation, but true concern shone in his green-silver eyes.

_Were_ you okay?

After everything that had happened, between you and (l/n) and Yamamoto—

"I'm fine," you responded, and you were.

Tsuna breathed a sigh of relief. In that moment, you absolutely loved the pair in front of you. They were some of the best friends you could've ever asked for. You couldn't find it in yourself to be mad at them for finding out.

"You're not hurt or anything…?" Tsuna smiled. "(Y/n), I'm so glad." He bit his lip, wanting to say something, and then he decided against it and reached out to give you a hug instead.

There was a large, rough hand on your head. "Quit trying to be independent, woman," Gokudera growled, and when you glanced at his face, his lips were curved in the subtlest of all smiles. "There are some things you shouldn't keep to yourself."

"I'll remember that," you vowed


	58. Do You Hear?

_"…do you hear it beating? Do you hear what it's saying to you?" _

* * *

You decided to tell Yamamoto about Tsuna and Gokudera's knowledge on your situation. Like the silver bomber had said, there were some things you shouldn't keep to yourself. Besides, this was so much bigger, the fact that your two friends knew. By all means, Yamamoto deserved to know.

You found him propped up on the sofa, absentmindedly bouncing a baseball against the far wall. He seemed to be deep in thought, judging by the expression he wore. He hadn't noticed your presence so far.

Soundlessly, you set your books on the table. You crept toward the sofa, walking on your tiptoes.

"I'm home!" you exclaimed, and Yamamoto's shoulders jerked in alarm. He whipped around to see just who the intruder was as you launched yourself at him, your arms wrapping around his torso for a bear hug. "Hey, Yama-kun!"

"(Y-Y/n), don't scare me like that," he chided you with a smile.

"Well, I couldn't help it," you replied innocently, "I missed you." His cheeks colored red and you giggled triumphantly. He was looking so much better than he had this morning; the sickly pallor from his hangover was gone, and his eyes were bright with secrets.

Yamamoto dropped the ball to the ground. It rolled underneath the sofa, but he paid it no mind as he whisked you onto his lap in a bold action that made your heart flutter. It was your turn to blush. _What_ was he doing?

"It's so lonely here without you," he mumbled. His fingers rubbed your shoulders, massaging them gently, but the touch lingered in a sinful manner. His eyes were locked onto your mouth, and suddenly you wanted to kiss his full coral lips, just one kiss…

You shoved away the thoughts of lust and burning desire. He was a sly one, Yamamoto, trying to distract you. "I've got news, you know," you said, the words falling heavy and slow from your mouth, like honey.

A smirk graced his features. "It can wait," he said softly, leaning closer, tilting his head—

"Yama-kun, stop that!" With great difficulty, you snapped out of the heavy atmosphere, scooting backward on his lap. He stopped, coolly raising a brow in question, to which you answered with, "Look, do you want to hear what I have to say or not? It's important."

"All right," he said, exhaling a breath that ended as a chuckle. Dark shivers shot through your body.

You kept quiet for a moment and contemplated exactly how you were to break the news to him. There was really no way to sugar-coat it, so you finally said, "Tsuna and Gokudera both know about my father."

Like a switch had been flipped, Yamamoto's expression was instantly replaced with a serious business one. "How did they find out?" he demanded quietly.

"Iemitsu, through Shamal. He did a little digging and got the information he needed."

"I didn't know the Outside Advisor was back," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

"Me neither," you murmured.

He was in full thinking mode, and you kept quiet, watching little emotion flit across his visage. With each second, his face hardened, until it was all lines and angles.

You could easily tell that he didn't like Tsuna and Gokudera being in on the chaos. They were his close friends, his buddies, his family. Yet this was a matter that was much personal, one that his bond with the Vongola Sky and Storm didn't quite reach.

The silence dragged on for a while.

You decided to voice your opinion on the whole thing. "Yama-kun," you started, and when he showed no signs of having heard your voice, you touched his face. "Hey, Yama-kun…I actually don't think it's a bad thing that they know."

Blinking from his thoughts, Yamamoto leveled his gaze at you. "What do you mean?"

"Well…for one thing, it's Tsuna and Gokudera weren't talking about. Tsuna's not the type to spread the word. As for Gokudera, I trust him enough to keep it quiet."

You hesitated.

"And…I think we've been in this by ourselves for too long."

More so yourself than him, but Yamamoto had taken the full force of (l/n)'s attacks these last few months, just to protect you. Gazing at him right now, you realized that this was where you wanted to be. Right in front of him, only him and you, no one else.

It was in your face now.

You loved Yamamoto Takeshi.

He had started to say something, but he met your eyes just as your vision misted over with tears. You quickly turned your head away, embarrassed, as Yamamoto's lips curved into a gentle smile.

"We have been in this alone for too long, haven't we?"

Instead of giving him a coherent answer, a pre-sob hiccup left your throat. The tears were welling up faster now. A couple slipped down your cheek. He swiped the runaway tears with his thumb, brushing your skin softly, like you would break in his embrace if he applied any pressure.

"I agree with you," he said, and he was about to position his arms around you in a reassuring hug when you shook your head. A hug wasn't going to solve anything. You wanted something more. There was an unquenchable thirst rising in you, one that had you craving the taste of his lips, mouth, skin.

"Kiss me, Takeshi," you breathed. "Make me forget."

"(Y/n)—"

"_Please._"

Caramel eyes darkening considerably, Yamamoto fitted his mouth to yours in exploration. You hungrily answered his lips with your own, parting your mouth in invitation. You needed to get lost for a while. He was a wonderful distraction.

He was _your_ distraction.

And if your love for the raven-haired male before you wasn't clear earlier, it sure as hell was now


	59. Ding, Dong

_"Ding, dong, the witch ain't dead. She's still trying to take my bread…" _

* * *

And so a week passed by, a week in which you and Yamamoto explored the newfound relationship you held. You knew it couldn't always be kisses, hugs, and beautiful words, but for the time being, that's exactly what it was.

With him, you found solace. With him, you found ecstasy. With him, you found danger.

And you loved it.

You honestly could say you hated the way you'd been acting for the last few months. Somehow, you had lost sight of someone dear to you, and your indifference had nearly killed him.

You couldn't apologize enough times, but Yamamoto was kind and forgiving. Because that's just who he was.

"You don't have to keep telling me you're sorry," he whispered, as the two of you lay in bed. He was spooned into your frame, his arms locked around your waist and his legs tangled with yours. "I understand, and I told you it's all right."

His breath tickled the nape of your neck, and you loved the bursts of heat rippling through you. "I know, but…"

"(Y/n), really. You have nothing to be sorry about."

You smiled in the darkness as his fingertips grazed the small of your back.

"And if you keep saying sorry, I'll have to punish you for it," he joked, but his lips played near your earlobe, teeth nipping gently.

You pressed your lips shut to trap a moan. "In that case," you responded, "I might just start saying it all the time—"

"Your decision." With a laugh, he moved over you and kissed you sweetly, and you giggled against his mouth.

Based upon mutual agreement, you decided to keep the relationship under tabs. It was better that way, and if the secret wasn't leaked, you could avoid further chaos. Everything was nice now, but with one slip of the mouth, your world would be shattered.

Not many people knew about it. Tsuna and Gokudera knew, of course; they'd been the first to know. Tsuna was happy to hear it, and though he had seemed irritated, Gokudera seemed to be as well. Iemitsu knew about it, too. And that was it.

Tsuyoshi probably was in on the gig, but he had suspected this outcome for a while now, and he wasn't surprised. He never said anything, though. It was just hidden grins and perceptive laughs.

So days of façade at school became normal, and you grew accustomed to it. It was kind of fun, actually.

Everything was going smoothly for another week or so.

You were sitting through another boring period of history. Again, the teacher up front had managed to knock out practically everyone, minus eight students who kept themselves occupied with homework or whatnot. You were passing notes to Yamamoto, conversing about nothing in particular: the weather, plans for the weekend, stuff of the sort.

The announcer system overhead crackled to life. Static, then, "(L/n (Y/n), Yamamoto Takeshi, report to the student disciplinary committee head room immediately."

The teacher glanced over at you. "Better get going," he said, and then he returned back to his exciting lecture about some past revolution.

Yamamoto caught your eye as he stood up. The two of you exited the classroom, not saying a word to each other until you were well in the deserted corridor.

He slung a friendly arm across you, tugged you close. "What a surprise," he said, smiling. "I wonder what it could be."

"Yeah. They don't just randomly call you down into S.D.C. head room for nothing." The head room belonged to the head prefect, Hibari. And Hibari didn't like crowds. For him to have called the both of you down, something was up.

"Well, we might as well go see what it is, hmm?"


	60. Nobody's Falling in Love

_"No, I don't want to fall in love. I don't want to fall in love with you. Nobody's falling in love…" _

* * *

The rest of the way on the walk to Hibari's room was silent. You walked tucked comfortably under Yamamoto's arm. He knew it looked friendly, only a casual arm across the shoulders. He couldn't really do anything more, considering that their peers were everywhere and the romance risked a leak.

But the hallways were deserted—everyone was in the middle of class—and so Yamamoto slyly lowered his arm, repositioning it around your waist. He tucked his hand leisurely in the pocket of your skirt, and when your breath stuttered once, he met your eye with an innocent grin that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

You untangled yourself from his embrace right outside of the S.D.C. head room. Plastering a smile, you stepped in first, and Yamamoto followed you in.

"Close the door," Hibari said from inside, and Yamamoto did as instructed, pulling the door shut.

The room was dark. The curtains hadn't been pulled. Yamamoto squinted out at the shadows to discern outlines and shapes of objects.

"Yo, Hibari-san," you greeted cheerfully, on Yamamoto's side. "You called for us?"

"Herbivores," addressed the head prefect with a snort. His eyes glinted in the darkness. "Something has been brought to my attention. And I cannot allow the matter to go on." He rose from his seat with an unintended flourish, moving around his heavy wood desk to the curtains, which he shoved back.

The sudden intrusion of light had both you and Yamamoto covering your eyes. Yamamoto stumbled, squinting hard. "A little warning next time?" he laughed.

Hibari grunted out something like, "Perhaps."

You regained your sight first. "So, Hibari-san," you said, and you lowered your hand from your eyes. "What did we—"

You cut off with a gasp.

Yamamoto recovered, snapping his eyes to where yours were trained. Your eyes were huge and round, almost popping out of your head in a cartoonish way. He soon saw why; his stomach clenched unpleasantly, his hands balling up into fists.

Seated in a chair next to Hibari, head down and hands clasped loosely between his knees, was (L/n).

Violent, unbridled fury ran through Yamamoto like a flame. He wanted to punch (l/n) in the face, maybe kick him once or twice. It took every ounce of self-preservation he had in himself not to lunge at the man and give it to him good.

He still remembered the night of the party. The drink. The threat. And of course, Yamamoto remembered all the other times he'd gotten hurt on account of (l/n). Too many times to count.

One of (l/n)'s gunmetal eyes flicked up slowly, zeroed in on Yamamoto's. The man lifted his head. His lips twisted darkly into the beginnings of a smile.

Yamamoto opened his mouth to say something when he heard, "W-what are you doing h-here?"

Oh, shit. He'd forgotten.

You were here.

Yamamoto chanced a look at your face, and he was alarmed to see shock playing on your features. The shock was quickly hardening to ugly rage.

"What are you doing here?" you repeated, stepping forward, your focus completely on your father. Your (e/c) eyes had narrowed into slits.

Instead of answering, (l/n) cocked his head in Yamamoto's direction and inquired, "Enjoyed the drink?"

He'd planned to act calmly and rationally, seeing as the situation was already waiting to explode in on itself, but Yamamoto couldn't stop himself. "You bastard," he started.

"You gave him the drink, didn't you?" you exclaimed, outrage in both your tone and expression. You took another step forward. "What did you hope to accomplish, father? Were you planning to turn him into a rambling drunk like yourself?"

Throwing your hands up, you muttered bitterly, "God, you're hopeless."

He hadn't spoken directly to you yet, but the older man was eyeing you with a look that made Yamamoto's stomach drop to the floor.

From where he stood by the windows, Hibari cut into the conversation. "I didn't gather you three here to argue," he said. "You're here so I can question you on this troubling matter." He swiveled his head, observing the father and daughter, before gazing coolly at Yamamoto.

"Well, get on with it, then," (l/n) said.

Hibari merely gave him a withering stare before addressing everyone with, "I want the truth. I was informed of an interesting rumor. One in which you" —he motioned to you and Yamamoto— "have been being abused lately."

"Who told you?" Yamamoto demanded. He thought back to what you'd told him: _Tsuna and Gokudera know. And so does the Outside Advisor._

"None of your business, herbivore."

(L/n) gave a dismissive snort. "Doesn't matter who told you," he said, settling back in his seat with his arms crossed over his broad chest. A sneer was clear on his lips. "These two maggots here deserved everything they got."

"You did not just seriously say that," you said.

His gunmetal eyes connected with yours. "And if I did?"

"Let me see if I've got this right. You're saying that Takeshi deserved very single ball, every single bat, every single punch you've ever given him throughout the course of these last few months?"

Your volume dipped upward, notching up another octave. "You're saying that I deserved every single hit I've ever gotten from you? And all of those nasty words? Do you have any idea how painful they are? _Do you_?!_" _you shrieked.

Yamamoto froze, caught off guard. He'd known about the terrible things (l/n) had said to you, but the part about you being hit was news.

"I never hit you," (l/n) said, brows pulled low over unfeeling eyes.

"Not when you were sober, no, but you're a fucking drunk twenty-four-seven, so that doesn't really count!"

"I never hit you," he repeated firmly.

"Oh, really?" you spat, shoulders shaking with rage. "Then what about the time you slapped me good for mentioning Yamamoto and the others? And what about the time you came home, drunk, from some stupid bar fight? Did you not slap me then?"

"Those were under different circumstances—"

"There _are_ no circumstances!"

Anger was rising in Yamamoto's chest again, choking him. He'd never heard a word from you about getting hit. And he was stunned.

But as pissed as he was with (l/n), Yamamoto could see that you were losing your composure. The wall you'd built up these last few days—he should have known the bliss wouldn't last long—the wall was crumbling, and it had left you an unraveled mess.

He had to do something. He reached out to take your hand, to gently bring you back down from your vertigo. "(Y/n)…"

"You're a heartless bastard, one who does nothing but sit around and drink all day!" you shouted. Words tumbled from your lips, each one faster than the one before. "Father, that's all you do! And you've taken to abusing Takeshi!"

"He should have never gotten himself involved," (L/n) growled, glaring sideways at the raven-haired teen.

Yamamoto met his glare head-on, refusing to look away. If he had to, he'd go over there and settle it. Even as he held the glare, he tried to get through to you again. "(Y/n), listen to me—"

"He was only being considerate, father, that's not a good enough reason for you to go after him!"

"He doesn't deserve to know what happened!" (L/n) hissed back, the full force of his glare focused entirely on you. If looks could kill, Yamamoto would have been dead ten times over; murder was literally packed behind the cold fury of that glare.

"He doesn't know anything about that," you began, hands gesturing wildly in frustrated anger, "only the things I've told him, but I haven't said anything about Mom—"

"_Don't bring her name into this._"

You jerked backward, shocked into silence by the force of his words. Yamamoto instinctively stepped forward and shielded you against his chest, grabbing one of your wrists with a hand and bringing your arms back down to your sides.

(L/n) was on his feet now, one hand gripped around the chair arm, for balance or support. "That woman is someone you shouldn't mention at all. You don't deserve to say her name."

Recovering over your initial shock, you cried, "Who are you to take Mom's side? All this time, you've been the one after her, and now all of a sudden you've upped and decided to defend her?"

The mention of your mother's name had confused Yamamoto. He had never known the woman; she was never a part of the picture. Growing up, it had always been your dad and Tsuyoshi, seeing as his mother was gone as well.

"(Y/n), what are you—?" he tried, but the dialogue between you and your father had picked up again.

"You never loved her!" you accused.

"How _dare_ you say that!" he roared back.

"It's true! You never bothered to stick around and see how she was doing!"

"What would you, of all people, know about it? You were too young—"

"I know about her depression! And you didn't do a single thing to ease her back up—"

"She was taking medication to stabilize—"

"Stabilize, my ass. She was unhinged and every little thing set her off! Yet you were off, gambling and doing who knows what!"

"(Y/n), if you don't shut up right now—"

"And underneath the pain of that depression, she was a coward! A fucking coward! She took the easy way out!"

Silence struck the screaming match. You were gasping for breath, cheeks flushed with effort and eyes misted over with tears. (L/n) remained standing, noisily breathing in and out, his hands fisted and shoulders set in an angry line. Over by the window, Hibari watched everything unfold with an unreadable expression. And Yamamoto had you wrapped in his arms, trying to provide what little comfort he could.

He processed your words with a sense of dread. Lowly, he murmured, "When you say she took the easy way out…"

"Put a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger," you clarified with a grim nod, and Yamamoto was speechless. Your mother had committed suicide?

"Why?" he asked, without meaning to.

"Because she couldn't handle the pressure of raising a kid. Because she was dealing with depression. Because she had a husband who spent the day gambling and the night gambling some more. Because she was a spineless coward," you answered. It would be impossible to inject even one more drop of bitterness into your voice.

Another heavy minute passed, and then (l/n) said softly, "Her medication should have taken care of the depression. But it wasn't strong enough, and she never told me—eventually, she stopped taking the pills…"

Yamamoto was starting to see it now. He'd heard about your father's old nasty gambling habits. And with all he'd heard so far, he was able to piece together a picture of what had happened: driven insane with depression, your mother had found a spare gun lying around the house while (l/n) had been at the slots, and she'd decided to stick it in her mouth and end the pain of being alone in the twisting darkness…

His arms tightened around you. There was nothing he could've said to you at that moment.

And then Hibari spoke. "Whether you accept it or not, the death of your wife lies in your hands, (l/n)."

The man simply looked at the prefect with empty eyes.

Pushing off from the wall, Hibari started forward, his eyes flashing dangerously. "It seems your drinking problem has gotten out of hand. Student abuse of any kind will not be tolerated on school grounds. I will have to bite you to death." He raised a hand; a tonfa was gripped in his palm.

"Try it," began (l/n).

"…but I have been given a better offer," Hibari said suddenly, lowering the hand a fraction. "Either I report you to the authorities for student abuse, or you relieve yourself of teaching here at Namimori High."

He was asking (l/n) to quit his job.

"You will undergo immediate therapy from the moment you step outside this building. In fact, there is a specialist waiting for you outside," Hibari said, lips twitching upward into a smile. Somehow Yamamoto knew he was referring to Iemitsu as the specialist. "And you will leave this city right away. Your presence has caused too much disturbance; I cannot allow it to continue on any longer."

(L/n) gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "You really thought this out, didn't you?" he remarked, and then glanced at you, hidden behind the barricade of Yamamoto's arms. "What about my daughter?"

"She's not your daughter anymore," Yamamoto snapped, relishing in the way defeat flickered across the older man's visage.

"I agree with Yamamoto Takeshi," said the cloud guardian, "and you will disappear without her."

There was a tense moment as (l/n) dropped his gaze to the floorboards, his shoulders slouching, as though he'd lost hope. "I really loved her," he said then, flicking his eyes up to meet yours. "Your mother. She was the love of my life. But things just didn't work out…"

"I hate you," you whispered, your voice unsteady with emotion. "I _hate _you for driving her to kill herself. I hate you for everything you've done to me and Takeshi."

He sighed, a resigned, accepting sigh.

"You're dismissed, herbivores," Hibari said, addressing both you and Yamamoto. The raven-haired male gently pushed you toward the doorway, ushering you out, but you stopped in your tracks to call back a thank you to Hibari. The head prefect only grunted in response, a hungry predator gaze fixed on (l/n), who was sitting himself back down tiredly.

Yamamoto led you outside. He walked all of three feet before you collapsed in his arms, a blubbering mess of tears and snot and gasps and lost words.

"Shhh," he murmured, hugging you, smoothing his hands over your face. "It's okay. It's over, baby. Everything's going to be fine from now on."

You sobbed even harder, clenching the back of his uniform with desperate fingers.

His heart broke even more, but as Yamamoto held you even tighter, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief. Your father was being taken care of. He was gone. And everything was back where they should've been.

At the end of the day, he had you. And he would help gather the pieces of your shattered self.


	61. Curtain's Finally Closing

_"But now it's time to go. Curtain's finally closing. That was quite a show, very entertaining, but it's over now…" _

* * *

Yamamoto scanned the heads amongst the crowd, looking for the familiar head of (h/c) hair. When he spotted it, he jumped up and began waving his arms wildly. "(Y/n)!" he called. "(Y/n), over here!"

Somehow, over the noise of hundreds of other people talking, you heard him shouting your name. You looked up and met his eyes. A smile graced your lips; it was breathtaking and had the effect of making Yamamoto short of breath. "I'll be right there," you mouthed, and then disappeared within the steady steam of bodies again.

It was the mid-winter cherry blossom festival, and the Namimori square was completely packed with people. Yamamoto had already seen most of his classmates among the crowd. Such festivals were popular, so it was no surprise to see so much enthusiasm.

The cherry blossoms didn't normally bloom in winter, but the ones around the graveyard were in full bloom, and the townspeople had taken it to mean some sort of symbol. You and Yamamoto had seen the trees for yourselves while visiting your mother's grave—for the last time, you'd said, because visiting her had lost meaning.

Two months had passed since that afternoon in Hibari's head room. Many things had happened in that short time span.

True to Hibari's word, (L/n) left Namimori under Iemitsu's watchful eye. The head of CEDEF had visited again in a week or so with details of the arrangement. He had taken (l/n) to therapy for his awful alcohol obsession. The man was also facing possible charges for abuse and would be tried under a Vongola-influenced trial, courtesy of Tsuna's predecessor Nono. He wouldn't be returning to Namimori any time soon—meaning, he was out of your and Yamamoto's lives for good.

On the other hand, the relationship between Yamamoto and you had grown and deepened considerably. It still wasn't always kisses, hugs, and beautiful words, but the kisses shared were steamy and passionate, the hugs were meaningful and lovely, and the words were as perfect as clouds.

And Yamamoto had gotten very acquainted with your body, in the most intimate of ways.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but the two of you had had sex. And it had been awesome. There was no other way to describe it. Yamamoto had never done something so slow in his life, but it had been worth it. Besides, he'd had plenty of chances to notch up the speed, and your reactions were always very satisfying.

He smiled to himself.

Arms looped around his neck and he felt breasts pressed up against his back from behind. "Hey," you purred into his ear, "missed me?"

"Always," he responded, turning his head sideways to give you a sloppy kiss.

You were dressed for the festival in a pretty (f/c) kimono. There were scrawling flowers printed across the fabric. The flowers were like oil spread on top of water. They were white until you moved; colors flashed across the petals whenever the fabric stirred along with your movement. Your hair was put up in sweeping hairdo, with a few stray curls escaping from the bun and framing your face.

Your face had been cosmetically altered just a bit. Pink gloss shone on your lips, and your lashes were inked with mascara. You didn't wear any other makeup, but Yamamoto preferred it that way.

"Sorry I'm late," you were saying, moving around him. "I ran into Tsuna and the gang on the way here, so I stopped to talk for a little. Hey, did you know Hibari's here?"

"Really?" The head prefect was normally uncomfortable around cherry blossoms.

"Yeah. He said he was keeping an eye on everything."

"Oh, of course."

You sat between his legs, leaning back against him. Yamamoto slipped his arms around your waist and tightened his hold, resting his chin on top of your head.

"This is nice," he hummed.

He could hear your smile. "Simpleton," you teased.

"You love it."

"That I do, Takeshi." You had taken to calling him by his first name instead of _Yama-kun._ But he was okay with the change.

People were taking their seats. Preparations for the lantern-lighting were almost ready, and anyone who had a lantern to light and release were finding a spot to do so. The clamor of the voices was gradually simmering down.

Yamamoto had been thinking about bringing a lantern for the two of you, but you had protested the idea, saying that there would be a better time than tonight. Well, maybe you had another festival in mind, but either way, he ended up listening to you. And so he didn't have a lantern for tonight.

"Takeshi?"

He glanced down, finding your (e/c) eyes on him. "What is it?"

"I love you. And I really mean it." You ducked your head down to escape his gaze, a smile lingering on your mouth. "I just thought you should know that. I mean, you've always been there for me and you're both a friend _and_ a lover, so…"

Yamamoto squeezed her tighter, feeling so warm. He didn't know what made him say what he blurted out next. Maybe it was the intensity in your eyes. Maybe it was the way you spoke then. Or maybe it was the guilt of holding back for so long.

He kept his eyes forward, but he brushed his lips to her ear and whispered, "Marry me."

Your surprise was evident in the way you jolted against him.

"T-Takeshi…"

A grin formed on his mouth. "Not now," he said, "we're too young, obviously. But I was referring to the future—"

"I will…someday," you answered. "I promise."

Then you tilted your head back and pulled his face down to yours. His lips connected with yours just as the first lantern was released into the sky, a blinking, fleeting orange glow symbolizing a new beginning.

* * *

**LCIH: **_Fin._


End file.
